Contrary
by nevergone4ever
Summary: "We don't have to if we don't want to." Welcome to the 90th Hunger Games!
1. Wake Up Pt One

_**Welcome to the nightmare; a state of complacency.**_

**Quinn Farlowe- Vice President- 47 years old**

_This is a nightmare_, my thoughts scream as I sort frantically through the papers. _This serves you right for taking on this job, Quinn._

"No," I mutter, clenching my teeth, "that's not true…"

No matter what thoughts have planted themselves in my head, they're not true. Never true. I know for a fact that taking on this job was my destiny; it has to be. Juliet didn't come right out and say what she was thinking, but if she did, I'm sure she'd have said that I was the right person for this job.

"Quinn?" a small, mousy-haired woman with brightly colored spectacles peers inside my room. "Er— Mrs. Farlowe?"

"You can call me Quinn, Amelia." I smile. "We've known each other for long enough." I know she's just calling me Mrs. Farlowe to humor me— she honestly has known me since she herself was just seventeen, an apprentice.

She replies with a soft smile of her own, scampering to my desk. "Brought your coffee. Need a pick-me-up, Quinn?"

"More than anything," I mutter, sipping gratefully from the thin white cup. "Tulip brought the arena plans over this morning, but I seem to have misplaced the sheet of muttations."

"Arena plans!" Amelia squeaks, her eyes widening. "So late? It's almost a month before the Games!"

I bare my teeth grimly in the form of some sort of twisted grin. "Tulip has never been good on dates, has she?"

"Tell me about it. Last year, didn't she forget to give you the plans for the right half of the arena until just a half week before the Games?" Amelia shakes her head. "I swear, Quinn, that woman's onto something. It's insane that I'm curious about what's going on inside her head."

"Don't blame yourself," I sigh heavily. "We all have, at some point of another. But hey… put yourself in her shoes, Amelia. Haven't you ever—"

A sudden noise at the far side of my office makes my heart skip a beat. Wide-eyed, I whip my head around to see Mrs. Snow, her fluffy blond hair swishing silently around her shoulders. Her pale eyes stare coldly at me.

"I do not appreciate you, of all people, talking about myself behind my back," she says quietly, her eyes unblinking.

"No!" I cry, hurrying to cover myself up. "I wasn't talking about you, Mrs. Snow, never! I was rather talking about Tulip Carbonne- Amelia and I were annoyed by her lack of professionalism, that's all. We were glad she gave us the arena plans on time."

Mrs. Snow's eyes flicker over cowering Amelia, who's shielding her eyes. Mrs. Snow sighs, her melodic tone breathy. "I have complete faith in my father's choices," she tells me. "I would never dare doubt his decisions. He chose Tulip Carbonne to be Head Gamemaker, and I trust him fully. I'd ask you to do the same, Mrs. Farlowe."

Instead of standing up to her, something inside of me weakens, and I shrink under her calculating stare. "I'm sorry," I say shakily. "I…. It was silly of me to judge her so quickly, Mrs. Snow. It's my second year of being a vice president… I must ask you to forgive me."

Her pale eyes narrow, but she nods slowly. "I accept your apology, Mrs. Farlowe. Next time I ask you not to voice your opinions when you're yet unsure of them."

My cheeks heat up. She's basically telling me to censor my thoughts!

Mrs. Snow looks at Amelia, frowning slightly. "Did I authorize an assistant for you, Mrs. Farlowe?"

"Um, I don't believe so," I reply skittishly, "but you said I could hire a number of Avoxes, and one talking assistant wouldn't be as bad… she's getting paid and all that…" My blabbermouth is off again. I quickly shut my trap, glancing at Mrs. Snow for some sort of reaction. Nope, she's keeping that pokerface…

"Adorable," she says stiffly. "Though, Mrs. Farlowe, when I do not authorize something, that means _it is not allowed_."

I swallow dryly, really craving some vitamin-infused protein water or something right now. I could use a caffeine blast. "May I ask why?" I question timidly. I'm not too crazy at the thought of giving up loyal, sweet Amelia…

Mrs. Snow laughs forcedly, her tone uneven. "I'd thank you not to question my reasons. It would be very wise, indeed…"

I fiddle with a loose string on my sage green pea coat. "What should I do with her, then, Mrs. Snow?"

The blond woman casts her gaze to timid Amelia, who is visibly quivering. No doubt she's imagining images of herself being executed, hung, or even being turned into one of those wretched Avoxes…

"You may keep this one," Mrs. Snow says tiredly, "but any more, and I'll have their tongues sliced out and they will be forced to serve the tributes. Just one assistant is plenty for a woman of your ranking."

I can barely believe my ears. Instead of shaking her shoulders in joy and, I don't know, throwing a party or something, I remain calm and offer up a civilized smile. "Thank you so very much…"

"Mm." the president nods, her eyes flicking to Amelia once more before putting up her hand in a sort of blunt wave. "Come by my office tomorrow at nine, Mrs. Farlowe. We have much to discuss involving the arena. Tulip will be there as well."

"Will do, Mrs. Snow." I wave back, watching her retreating form silently slip out the door. Amelia bounds up from her spot near the glassy, opaque windows, beaming wildly.

"Wonderful news, isn't it?" she asks through an obvious smile. "I'm so glad that she allowed me to stay! I just couldn't _imagine_ working for anybody else, anywhere else, honestly…"

I'm quiet, nodding and humming every so often at her excited words. "It is rather sublime, isn't it?"

As Amelia prances around my office happily, I'm tangled in my own web of thoughts. The arena this year is more complex than ever… it rivals only a few of the past arenas. It's so amazing… and so twisted…

It's not wonder that Mrs. Snow had the idea first, then referred it over to Tulip.

"You know, I think I'll take the day off a bit early…" I mumbled, slipping on my cashmere scarf and pushing in my chair. "Just need a bit of rest, is all. Some time to myself, to think…"

Amelia's dancing stops short, and she quickly nods solemnly. "I understand, Quinn. Take all the time you need. If you want, I can call you tonight—"

"No, no, you're okay. I remember. Nine tomorrow morning at Mrs. Snow's office. I… I just need some time alone, Amelia. Thank you for the offer…"

Snatching up the manila folder containing the arena plans, I scurry out the door without a backward glance.

Once I'm at my comfortable, high-security apartment a few blocks away from my office, I find time to relax for once. Moving to the living room where I can watch over the glistening lights of the Capitol as the day draws to an end, I spread out the vast arena plans over the coffee table. From there, I grab a soft-leaded pencil and start sketching out my notes.

I'm so immersed in my work, the slightest of gasps shocks me.

"Mumma, this is amazing!"

I glance up, still half-weary, to see my beautiful four-year-old daughter, her mouth outstretched in a wide gasp. "Lookit that! So pretty!"

I smile, stifling a giggle. "I had a feeling you'd say that, Dia. This arena is designed… well, for now it's a secret, but I think you can piece together some of what it is!"

Dia moves around the table, murmuring things to herself as her huge brown eyes gaze over the miniscule landmarks. "Can I watch the Hunger Games this year, Mumma?"

I purse my lips, thinking. "Maybe… or how about I record them and you watch them in a couple years?"

Dia's bottom lip trembles. "But Mumma… I wanna see this 'rena!"

"I know you do, darling, but you're still too young—"

Dia offers me a hideous scowl before running out of the room, sniffling. I sigh, watching her small body dart down the hallway. I wish I could show Dia the Games this year—they're going to be amazing for sure. But I'm still afraid that the bloodshed and the killing will mar her…

Clutching my pencil, I go back to marking my own notes down, shaking my head and nodding on occasion.

_This arena is designed to mess with their minds— to prove to them that, for once, what they are so familiar with may not be an advantage._

**A/N: Wake Up by Colton Dixon.**

**And so begins the 90****th**** Hunger Games—Contrary! I gave you a couple hints on the arena… nothing big too far, but hopefully, **_**maybe**_** you can piece some of it together. **

**As always, the tribute form is on my profile! I'll accept PM's only, but other than that, anybody can submit, and I'd love if you were detailed. Thanks again, and- oh- a review wouldn't hurt, either. ;)**


	2. Wake Up Pt Two

_**Chains will be broken, the dead will rise. This is the moment we are alive.**_

**Tulip Carbonne, 49, Head Gamemaker of the 90****th**** Hunger Games**

"Can I get you anything? Water? Fruit juice? Any other drink? I can fetch a specialty drink for you if you'd like, Mrs. Carbonne."

I force a smile, offering a supportive thumbs-up to the talkative assistant. "No thank you… Amelia, is it?"

"Correct!" cheers the mousy-haired woman, her small brown eyes squinted with sheer joy. "You actually got my name! That is just amazing!"

I stare at the floor. I did not sign up to babysit a hyper forty-year-old in the middle of a mid-life crisis, I am here to discuss the arena with Quinn and Violette. Why is there some squeaky, peppy assistant here? Why is she not an Avox? Why hasn't she been _made_ _into_ an Avox yet?

Amelia catches onto my disinterested frown right away. Surprising, she can't take any other hints. "Mrs. Carbonne? Are you sure about that water?"

I raise my paper cup. "I got a coffee on the way in, thanks."

I take a small sip of the coffee, its bitter taste leaving a sour imprint in my mouth. Setting it down on the wooden side table, I shuffle through the vast arena plans, eyes flickering proudly over the things I've spent so long creating. This year, I took a sort of spin-off of what the tributes will remember so, so clearly…

And I'll twist it.

This arena will be horrific, yet a true work of art. One such thing can only be dreamed up by such a brilliant mind such as mine; therefore, I have decided to hire only the best team this year to build the arena.

Speaking of team…

I pout, glancing at my ruby-encrusted watch. From my calculations, both of the presidents are seven minutes late. I can't stand for this. I have a meeting with the head of muttations in just three hours after the second meeting, plus I have to fetch lunch, and _somewhere_ in there I need to schedule a foot massage for my tired, _tired_ piggies…

The door opens with a soft squeak, and my eyes stare right into the doe-like ones of the vice president, Quinn Farlowe. She offers me a toothy grin, to which I reply with a tight-lipped smile. "You're late, Mrs. Farlowe."

"Please," she says like we're good chums, "call me Quinn."

"All right… _Quinn_." I narrow my eyes. "Care to explain why you are so behind on time? Punctuality is very important for me, you know. And where is that president?"

As if on cue, the president herself enters the room, olive green heels clicking importantly on the white tiles. She looks at me with a sort of amused, sadistic smirk. "Tulip, what a pleasure to see you again."

"Ah, Violette." I smile right back, this time offering a glimpse of my pearly whites. I can feel Quinn's eyes boring into me as Violette offers me a simple handshake. I wouldn't be surprised if _she_ never got a handshake.

"May we call this meeting to order?" she asks hopefully, as if to redeem herself.

Violette purses her lips. "Actually, Mrs. Farlowe, I would appreciate if you told that speaking servant of yours—the authorized one—to fetch me a sparkling water. Lime. A few ice cubes."

"Certainly." Quinn jumps at the chance to please Violette, and I stifle a laugh. She doesn't earn respect by doing errands for her. The poor woman wants to get on Violette's good side so badly that she'll even tell a servant to get somebody else's drink. Funny, I find that _utterly_ fascinating.

The timid, jumpy woman arrives with Violette's water in a slim glass, and I tilt my head. "Shall we get started, then?"

"Of course," Violette nods, pressing the frosty glass to her pale lips. "Tulip, can you spread out the Cornucopia plan?"

I reply with a slight tilt of my head, already unrolling the sheet and pinning it up on the corkboard. Violette stares at it with a sort of amused curiosity. Quinn gasps softly, her eyes greedily scanning the whole thing. And behind Violette, the servant drops a jug of water.

"What is this, exactly?" Quinn asks in a sort of strangled tone.

I murmur out the details, making sure to emphasize certain points with an incline of my voice, and I also take care to play up the arena's finest features with a dramatic waver of my tone. By the end of my speech, Quinn is gaping at the Cornucopia alone, and Violette's smirk is the size of District Seven.

"This truly is spectacular," Violette drawls. "I never really have seen an arena with this concept, and I do enjoy how you've stepped out of the box to define such delicate points."

"Yes," Quinn cuts in, her brow furrowing. I nearly snort— she is so unprofessional. "And… the Cornucopia concept, too."

I smile modestly. "I do appreciate your praise," I murmur. "And I thank you both for your feedback. I'll be taking my muttation ideas to Mr. Chimes, of course—"

"About Mr. Chimes," Violette clears her throat, standing up in the chair. I tilt my head. Is the man dead?

"I was forced to fire him," the president announces with dead eyes. "Turns out he was harboring rebel plans. In the end, I and a small group of closely trusted women took him, tried him, and found him guilty of plotting against us all. Using a lie detector test, we discovered that he's a native of District Six. A stowaway. He hopped on a train to the Capitol and built his way up from there." Violette frowns. "You never should have trusted him, Tulip."

This is unfair. I never even hired him.

"We've had him for four years," Quinn whispers, her eyes widened in sheer shock. "Would he really do such a thing?"

As Violette answers, the cogs in my brain slowly start cranking out a tuneless rhythm. It just doesn't add up. How would Violette know to inspect him? What was he doing wrong that she had to try him for?

As if she can hear my thoughts, the president whips her head back to me, a tendril of hair landing stylishly just over her eye. "It would be wise not to question me," she remarks haughtily, strolling across the room to the gargantuan picture window. "I've hired in his place somebody new. Once we have the actual arena meeting, with everybody involved, you'll get to meet them."

Quinn is quick to stutter. "Actual arena m-meeting? What do you mean, Mrs. Snow?"

I can't help but allow a laugh to bubble up, deep within my throat. "A meeting with, like she said, the most important people that are involved in these Games. The head of muttations, who I'm not quite sure is at the moment, the head of landscaping, the head of social interactions… Basically, the heads of everything."

Violette gives a miniscule nod. Her back is turned to me, so I don't even know if it's a nod or simply a slight ruffle of her hair in the breeze, but I take it as one. "We'll be meeting in just an hour. You haven't heard of this, Quinn?"

The timid servant squeaks, rushing over to the vice president. "Qu- Mrs. Farlowe, I f-forgot to tell you about this…"

Quinn's nostrils flare, but she sifts a hand through her soft red hair, calming herself down. "One of the most important meetings of the year, Amelia, and you forget to tell me?" She breathes heavily, a complete change from the skittish woman she was a moment ago. "This is just unacceptable!"

"Sorry," whispers the servant.

"No, it really isn't…" Quinn clenches her hands, her eyes squinted to slits. I'd look away as it is socially acceptable, but I'm so amused at the moment.

"Quinn! Tulip!"

We whirl around to the sharp sound of Violette's voice. She stares at both of us stonily. "This is very unprofessional of you, Quinn. When I hired you, I expected you to do my orders as a _vice_ president. I was very kind in allowing that… _help_ in."

"I can—"

"No, I don't need you to explain." Violette folds her hands over her waist, basically hugging herself. "I'd like that servant to be turned into an Avox immediately. No exceptions. I myself will find you a new servant."

"What?" chokes the brunette assistant.

In response, Violette simply sneers. "That is right," she says, and with that, she exits, calling out lightly, "Remember, one hour."

**A/N: Wake Up by Colton Dixon.**

_**\- contraryhungergames . blogspot . com - theirvictories . blogspot . com -**_

**First off, before I say anything else, I'd really like to apologize to the submitters whose tributes were not accepted. I really did like every tribute in a certain way, but worst came to worst and I was only allowed to accept twenty-four. And for that, I apologize. A lot. And I'd also like to thank LokiThisIsMadness for helping me out with my victor's blog. It helped me so much, took a load off my back. :)**

**Remember to follow and review!**

**Onto the happier news…**

**One of these tributes will be Panem's newest victor! ^-^ Congrats to everybody who got in! **

_**District One. Luxury.**_

Female- Carisa Lenette, 18

Male- Soren Valen, 18

_**District Two. Masonry.**_

Female- Eidra Nevett, 18

Male- Wraith Elvery, 18

_**District Three. Technology.**_

Female- Ellika "Ell" Mayes, 17

Male- Griff Forden, 14

_**District Four. Fishing.**_

Female- Juno Verdet, 18

Male- Meritt Cordeau, 18

_**District Five. Power.**_

Female- Maya Verone, 16

Male- Ezra Jefferson, 16

_**District Six. Transportation.**_

Female- Aria Verselis, 14

Male- Halcyon Chae, 16

_**District Seven. Lumber.**_

Female- Aspen Northwood, 18

Male- Brux Redragon, 16

_**District Eight. Textiles.**_

Female- Cayley Torreli, 17

Male- Tethys Acosta, 14

_**District Nine. Grain.**_

Female- Maysa Barric, 18

Male- Braxton Malory, 15

_**District Ten. Livestock.**_

Female- Shael Havern, 17

Male- Cade Bennett, 13

_**District Eleven. Agriculture.**_

Female- Kiera Brennan, 16

Male- Cole Tenacity, 16

_**District Twelve. Coal.**_

Female- Haven Faye, 15

Male- Kinton Machek, 16

**So, yeah. Questions.**

**1\. What are your detailed, honest thoughts on each tribute's blog blip? **

**2\. Early favorites? Loathes? Neutrals? Charts are cool :)**

**3\. How was my writing?**


	3. Like Yesterday

_**The roar of youth becomes a whisper with age.**_

**Teal Arben, District One, Victor of the 89****th**** Hunger Games**

Sheen smiles sluggishly as she slurps down yet another pumpkin-colored drink. She's had about five now, and she shows no signs of stopping. Very unprofessional.

"Sheen," I mumble. "You're going to get…"

"Shh," she giggles, thrusting her index finger to my lips in a vain attempt to keep me quiet. "What you don't know can't hurt you, Teal!"

It's only my first year as mentoring, but I'm going to take this seriously. Sheen may have helped me out so, so much last year, but half the time she was the worse for wear, a bottle attached to her hand. It doesn't matter that the sponsor gift rained down at the best time; I'm actually pretty sure that it was Taffeta, Scottie's mentor, that sent it.

Sheen tells me that victors have very different ways of dealing with the pain of becoming a victor. For her, drinks are her way of escaping everything. Taffeta, she says, is lucky enough that she can stand on her own without the help of drinks, morphling, or anything else.

She says it helps with the nightmares.

Me, I think that's rather idiotic. How can something as gross as alcohol help you out with 'nightmares', of all things? I don't experience them at all. Well, that would be lying if I said that, come to think of it. I had one, the night I was announced as a victor. I couldn't help but see that bloodied, beaten-down look on Tetra's face as she slowly slid into the veil of death.

Sheen's always told me that I was just the stereotypical, brutish male who wins without a second thought. She says that they win almost all the time. Take Velour, or Sans, for example, she says.

But inwardly, I know that's _not_ true. I won't be described with just one word— "brutish."

I mean, I know that I don't, like, defy every Career stereotype that there is. But to be honest, I think that I'm just a bit more than the average one. Taffeta, Sheen, Velour, and Dae, they're all so flippant and frankly, somewhat annoying. I hope that I break that stereotype… to some extent, at least.

Without uttering a word to Sheen, I walk out silently to the set of chairs that wait for me on the stage. I grin wildly as I see the crowds, the huge sea of kids that I was in only last year. A couple girls wave flirtatiously to me, and eagerly I respond in like.

Our escort, Musica, floats out on a bed of silver taffeta and bright pink lipstick. What is she supposed to be this year, some sort of alien?

Sheen plops down on the seat next to me, fingers fiddling with her silver flask. Seizing advantage of the one time that her lips aren't practically glued to it, I quickly ask, "So, how do we decide what tributes we want to mentor? Do we get to pick or something?"

Sheen burps unattractively, her eyes flickering between cross-eyedness and regularity. "Um, you can pick if you want," she mutters. "I'll take the runt again. You have the list? Yes? Cool."

I sit back in my chair, basking in the knowledge that I can have the tribute with the better advantage, before I rapidly realize that _I_ was the tribute she mentored last year. She thought I was the runt?! "Hey!"

Sheen only smirks.

I finger the tribute list carefully, eyes flickering over the small slip of paper. Carisa Lenette and Flash Centillion. Both very well-trained tributes, both brutal and ready to get their hands dirty. Perfect.

"Welcome!" shrieks out Musica, thrusting her hand, decked out in bangles, up into the air. "District One, are you ready?"

Most kids stare back at her blankly, but a select few cheer along with her, already pumped up for this year.

"I'll start with the girls, then, as is tradition!" Musica giggles, her talons digging into the giant glass bowl when a howl pierces the air.

"I volunteer!"

Sure enough, Carisa Lenette emerges from the eighteen-year-old section. She's clad in a rather skimpy burgundy dress, but I'm sure not complaining. She tosses her voluptuous brunette hair back with a flick of her head, flashing her pearly whites at everybody around her. She very quickly darts over the sidelines of the eighteen-year-old sector, locks lips with some guy, before treading up. Once she mounts the stage, she announces her name with a musical tone.

Musica beams, strutting over to the male's bowl, when another shriek erupts. But this one isn't Flash's voice…

"_I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER! I FRIGGING VOLUNTEER, ALL RIGHT?!"_

"No!" Carisa shrieks, her eyes humongous, as she sees who the new tribute is— a lanky boy with sandy-colored hair, definitely not the tanned Flash. "You… you _can't_! Can you _please_ pick another person? Please? I can't work with him!"

I stand up unconsciously, staring disgustedly at the boy that was not supposed to volunteer, as he tussles with the very same guy that Carisa had just kissed. They roll around on the ground for a moment before Naughty-Boy overpowers him with a strong kick, mounting the stage with little damage done.

Musica frowns, her coral lips turning downward. "Sorry, honey. Your name, boy?"

He grins at Carisa somewhat greedily before voicing, "Soren Valen, at your service."

"I'll take Soren," I murmur to Sheen, who's gulping down the remainder of her flask. "Seems a bit less aloof, to me."

"Joke's on you," smirks Sheen. "The ones who yell are the ones who wind up at the final five."

**Hestia Verbana, District Two, Victor of the 80****th**** Hunger Games**

Helios sighs heavily with each step that our escort, Madre, takes. Plop. _Sigh_. Plop. _Sigh_.

"Would you stop that?" I grumble. "Rather annoying, don't you think?"

He squints at me through the beaming yellow sun. "Guess so," he murmurs.

"_Thank_ you," I exhale, settling back into my seat and smoothing my ruffled navy dress down. The roles really are switched this year; last year, it was Helios who was the parental figure for the tributes, and he was very professional besides. Last year I was the wilder mentor, the one who laughed off anything they said negatively and offered them unhelpful tips. I don't know, perhaps this year is different since I became a mother.

This also was the first year that Helios had to go without his son. Untrue to his name, Viktor volunteered last year under the impression that he was better than all the rest. His arrogance led to his ultimately bloody death at the hands of his own ally, who soon became victor— Teal Arben, District One.

I wiggle into my seat, arms feeling a bit lighter now that the weight of a baby has been lifted off of them. Sandria is going to grow up to be just a regular kid, I'm making sure of that. All talks of volunteering will be thrown out the window. I paid the price, now I should get to have a normal, happy life just like all the rest of the victors.

"Welcome, welcome, to this year's Reaping- or should I say, Volunteering!" Madre smiles sickly, allowing the masses of kids to stare at her deadly. "Wonderful. Anyways…" she struts over to the male's bowl, plucking out a random slip, but before she can even say a word, up comes the boy.

Wraith Elvery. I've worked with him for nearly a year now, scanning over techniques that are formidable for his stocky form. Despite his low stamina, his skills in weaponry are just amazing. His appearance, paler and somewhat more muscular than the common District Two male, is nothing.

"You didn't say the magical words." Madre tilts her head at Wraith, teasing him.

Wraith shrugs, using his hand to sweep a lock of dark brown hair out of his eyes. "Okay. I volunteer, then."

The man of few words. I smirk.

Madre doesn't even have time to flash a witty flirtatious line at him before the female ascends the stairs, her chestnut hair and captivating eyes creating the picture of a perfect Career.

I shake Helios's arm gently. "Helios, it's yours!"

He smiles grimly.

"Eidra Nevett!" she announces in a whimsical tone, winking at Wraith, who looks indifferent. "Your female."

"She's great, isn't she?" Helios murmurs. "So… so vivacious and spirited. Gotta love her." I smile at his toned-down enthusiasm. Even muted praise is the ultimate praise for Helios nowadays.

Eidra catches my eye and gives me a curt wave. Wraith, on the other hand, stares out into the crowd like he's sure he's done the wrong thing.

Helios flicks his head, tossing some sleek black hair askew. "You know what, Hestia?" he mumbles. "I think we might just have a victor on our hands this year. But you never know, right?..."

"Not really, no," I reply.

If Helios is getting back on track, that's all that matters. And if Eidra somehow manages to help him back onto his feet, I myself will personally praise her for as long as her life allows.

**Candor Kruise, District Three, Victor of the 78****th**** Hunger Games**

Brushing down my cowlick, I turn to Xandra, who simply smirks. "Missed it, hotshot," she murmurs, dutifully patting it down for me.

Some might think it's a bit odd and off-putting that, at twenty, Xandra's romantically interested in me, a thirty-eight year old. I see no problem, though I'm not attracted to her. Poor girl will have to figure that out sometime.

But as long as our mentoring runs smoothly, I just won't tell her.

"Such a shame that our escort's too bigoted to see how amazing we're going to do as mentors," Xandra purrs, nearly throwing herself into my lap. "He doesn't have faith in us, Candor."

I moisten my lips and shrug. "A shame, all right. Maybe if Ping saw with his own two eyes and not those glass ones that he insisted on wearing."

"Those are glass eyes?" Xandra considers this before throwing her head back and laughing, her finger tracing a circle onto my hand— or is it a heart? "No wonder he stumbles every year. I'm surprised he can even read the slip of paper."

"Ah, then they must not be glass, then." Grateful for the slight moment of relief that hating on Ping gives me, I try to slip away. I don't want to be Xandra's lover, can't she see that?

Obviously not. She simply grabs onto the edge of my sweater and giggles mischievously. "Where are you going, Cand?" she asks, the edges of her mouth curving up.

"Um, j-just to fetch a drink," I stammer out.

Xandra raises a dark eyebrow, and I feel nauseous. "Make sure to…. _Fetch_ me one, too." She winks.

Extremely grateful for the distraction, I slip away to the coolers out inside the Justice Building and snag a water from one. Water's good. Water always helps me clear my mind to think. I take a long sip, considering this year and the tributes it will be soon to bring.

I've told Xandra that she can have the more aggressive tribute with the higher odds of winning, because I won my Games out of sheer luck, while she won with weaponry skills and strategy. She completely broke the District Three mold of being nerdy and timid, by being brazen and flippant with wicked talents concerning a crossbow. I was so proud of her. It was like an invention I created, a monster that came to life. Sort of like that fable, Jackenstein or something like that.

Xandra pokes her head out the door. "Hurry, Candor, Ping is just about to announce the female tribute!"

My heart flutters with hope. I grab another water bottle for my fellow mentor and I scamper out, hoping for a decent set of tributes this year.

Ping, the escort with fiery red hair and a black and white suit, clears his throat just as I plop down, handing Xandra the bottle. She giggles and she might have said 'thank you' but I didn't hear her.

"Ellika Mayes!"

There's a slight gasp from a section near me. I search for the cause of it, and my eyes land upon a fiery-haired girl. Her entire appearance is put-together, creating the image of a strong, capable tribute. She mounts the stage with her face void of much emotion, but I can tell that she's on the verge of shouting. Ellika's biting her lip with such force that when she stops biting it, there are visible teeth marks. I cringe. Ouch.

"Anything to say, Ellika?" Ping crams the microphone underneath her chin, but Ellika shakes her head defiantly, nose even turning up at the thought.

"You can call me 'Ell'," she hisses out.

Ping's face spreads into a wide, fuzzy grin as he glances at the girl. "Wonderful!" he proclaims, strolling across the stage to the male's. He grabs a slip off the top, glances at it once, and shouts out, "Griff Forden!"

My eyes fall upon an isolated boy, about fourteen, whom kids are moving away from like he has a terrible disease. Griff turns his small head tiredly, observing this, before mouthing his name and quietly climbing the stairs to the escort, his face contorted in sheer shock. I don't even think he knows what's happening to him anymore.

"Anybody you like in particular?" I say absentmindedly, watching the little boy hop the stairs up onto the stage. I have a feeling I know the answer.

Sure enough, Xandra's lips peel into a toothy grin. "I want Ellika," she replies. "Seems tougher than the boy, on any rate."

I sigh thickly, nodding slowly. "You're right, you know."

"Of course I am."

**Nuke Greensburo, District Four, Victor of the 82****nd**** Hunger Games**

"We going the same gender, like last year?"

Annie looks up at me, her lips parted slightly. With a short nod, she flips her hair once more, a mask of copper over her soft eyes.

It's like this every single year. Same old song and dance. I ask her who she wants, she doesn't reply, and then I ask her if we should go the same gender, and there's a nod. But once the tributes are announced, Annie's mumbling that she'd like the boy instead. _Every. Single. Year._

Maybe this year will be different? Fat chance.

Instead of chatting it up with my next-to-silent fellow mentor, I strike up a conversation with the escort, Sequin, but she's not one to be tampered with at all. If I even try to flirt with her, she'll screech. _So_ predictable.

And I have no doubts that this year will be the same.

As I'm dictating this to Sequin, her incredibly long golden eyelashes fluttering, she suddenly gives a funny hop, and her face falls, like she's hurt. Confused, I ask her what's up.

"Nothing," she says, giggling a bit. "Pregnancy pains."

My eyebrows fly up to meet my hairline. "Really? Awesome, Sequin! How far along are you?"

"Two months. It's so amazing when I feel him- or her- kick." Sequin muffles another giggle and gazes happily down at her rather flat tummy.

"Who's the lucky man?"

Sequin looks up, violet eyes confused. "Lucky man? ... Oh, yes. Not quite sure about the father, yet, but I'm _sure_ that he'll present himself. With all due time, Nuke, all due time!"

I nearly choke on my own saliva. "Wait… so you're so freaking happy about this child, and you have no clue who the dad is? Are you… are you being serious, Sequin?"

She bites her lip. "Um, in Panem it's a joy to have a baby," she says uncertainly.

"Yeah, same with District Four and all the other districts," I wave it off dismissively. "Sequin, that's not exactly something to be flaunting and proud of. That's kind of, like…" I stifle a nervous laugh.

The escort narrows her eyes. "You're just jealous," she sniffs.

"Am not!"

"Yes, you are," she grumbles. "You're upset that your wife has been barren, Nuke. Nothing to be jealous about, though."

"I… But we're not… _what_?"

"You're twenty-six, Nuke," Sequin says. "With all due respect, I have a feeling you're getting a bit… how do you say… hormonal?"

"_HORMONAL?!"_

"Yes."

With one last furious glance at the silly Capitolite, I scurry off to the chair next to Annie, my thoughts tangled up like a dish of seaweed.

"Want to bet who volunteers?" Annie asks softly, her butterfly-like eyelashes fluttering.

"Okay," I reply, sounding crabby. "I bet an eighteen-year-old guy and an eighteen-year-old girl. What about you, oh wise one?"

Annie blinks.

Whatever she's about to say is pierced by the raucous shriek of Sequin, who, despite being pregnant, is able to shout quite ferociously. "Welcome, District Four!" she screeches. "To the Reaping of the Ninetieth annual Hunger Games!"

Silence.

Sequin frowns. "Well, I'm sure you'll be much more enthusiastic once you find out who your representatives are, eh?"

Uncomfortable silence. A few women on the sidelines clap pathetically.

Sequin wrinkles her nose, not even bothering to move over to the big glass bowls. "Female…"

"_I volunteer!" _

A howl shatters the silence and the ocean of females part to make way for a freckled girl, her mouth still outstretched as she runs up to the stage, hand jabbing the air. She darts, very limber and quick, up the stairs to the microphone, her arm still waving frantically. Once the girl calms down, realizing that she made it onto the stage, relief floods over her features and she speaks into the microphone. "Juno Verdet of District Four."

Before Sequin has a chance to whisper "Male" into the microphone, another scream rings out around the square. Two boys run, stride by stride, both of their eyes locked onto the stage. My fists clench- who will make it? The blonde with a clenched jaw or the tall one with flowing brown hair?

Out of nowhere, the blonde's fist jabs out in front of the brunette and the latter falls, allowing the fighter to mount the stage, panting lightly. No smile is evident on his face, either. "Merritt Cordeau," he says solemnly, eyes flickering over the waves of kids.

"Well, Annie? Same gender?" My eyes turn to her, expecting an answer.

In reply, she smiles. There's a nod.

For once, my predictions have been proven wrong, and I couldn't be happier.

**Kassidy Flora, District Five, Victor of the 57****th**** Hunger Games**

"Ready for this year, Kass?"

I turn wearily over to Scarlett, her everlasting smirk planted on her face happily. "I think that we might have a chance, sure. Is that what you want to hear, Scarlett?"

Her puffy lips pout. "Come on, Kassidy," she whines. "Aren't you even a bit happy? I mean, last year we were so close with Kraft! Final four, remember?"

"Yeah," I manage to spit out. Despite my fifty-first birthday party just last night, I still have a bit of the fire in me from past years. "He was my tribute. I'd be a fool not to remember his name. And what about Ellen? Final twenty-two?"

Scarlett freezes, an answer on the tip of her tongue. Eventually she shakes herself out and replies, "Well, she was just twelve… it was in the stars, Kass. At least she wasn't dead last."

"District Twelve does not count," I sigh. "They're so fragile, they might as well be dead at chariots. That was bound to happen, too."

Scarlett narrows her eyes. "Well," she drawls. "At least in past years, I've gotten four tributes to the final six. Pretty nice, for only about twenty years."

I manage a smile. "And I brought home a victor."

Her lips split to reveal two rows of pearly whites. "You're right," she answers dreamily.

_Even though you made absolutely no kills,_ I think bitterly, my thoughts completely disrupting the moment_. Sheer luck that the boy fell off the edge of the cliff. You don't even deserve to be here. He was trained, he fought, and he did everything that you didn't._

I effectively hold back a snarky remark.

The escort, a man named "Lipp" dressed in neon yellow, bursts out from the curtains, his teeth dazzling and shimmering in the bright sunlight. He sashays to the microphone. I wince. Lipp is such a loser.

"Hello, District Five." He gazes around the sea of kids with a look of splendor in his eyes. Happy tears flow freely, and for a moment I can't help but wonder if he's acting or if he actually is supremely happy to send two kids off to their deaths.

"I'll waste no time in selecting your female, first." He smirks, strutting over to the glass bowls. His eyes flicker greedily over them, and he selects a slip. "Hm… Roberta No-"

"I VOLUNTEER!"

The shriek echoes around the town square, and mumbles arise within all of the kids and adults. Who would volunteer for this? In District Five, no less?

"Um, whoever said that, please step up to the stage?" Lipp smiles, eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion.

"I volunteer!" the voice calls out again. "Me! Maya Verone!"

"_What_?!" A girl, about fifteen or so, whips her head around, looking over the tops of peoples' heads. When she turns back, her face is bright red and very bewildered.

"Come on up, Maya," Lipp speaks into the microphone, gesturing. With ruddy cheeks, the girl slowly starts moving up to the stage, fiddling with the end of her dark brown braid. When she emerges fully, I can't help but shake my head in confusion. Though her appearance is rather dirty- unbathed, tousled hair- her clothes and gorgeous jewelries say otherwise. She's wearing loads of bangles, a few golden necklaces, and her dress looks brand new.

"Who is she?" Scarlett whispers in shock. I can only shake my head once more.

"Onto the males, then." Lipp trembles with happiness, his eyes glowing. He moves swiftly over to the second glass bowl, peering out into the crowd. It's almost like he's expecting another volunteer. When another does not come, he picks out a slip and announces… "Ezra Jefferson!"

It's easy to pick out the dark-haired boy, who's visibly shaking and holding his head in his hands. Cowering, dead to the world, it takes four Peacekeepers to pick the tall boy up and toss him onto the stage. Once on there, his feral eyes stare directly at me as he gets up slowly, body shaking in a frenzy.

That's it, then. Our tributes.

**Gingham Cleaver, District Six, Victor of the 66****th**** Hunger Games**

As the fog mists gently over the sleepy town square, I can't help but battle back an impending yawn. Morphling withdrawal's been nasty on my sleeping patterns. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure that my fellow mentor, Dalton, has been testing it out as well. Even mad, he has a lick of sense, and I'm sure that in no time he'll be going back to drawing clouds and horses and whatever else he did beforehand.

But for now, it's just a phase.

Or is it? I bite my lip as I glance over at him, his yellowing skin the most apparent thing about him. It closely matches my own, though he can't hide it as well.

"Dalton," I say gently, almost like a mother, "when did you first start morphling?"

"How do you know?" His brown eyes widen in fright.

I place a hand on his small shoulder, and his form convulses. His skin is cold to the touch. "Honey, your skin is yellow, you don't have any more insomnia, your breath has been particularly nasty as of late, and you're more… mellow."

He frowns. "That obvious?"

"Yes, it is."

"Fine," he sighs. "About three months ago."

I cringe to myself. Was I wrong? Is this not just a phase? I feel somewhat motherly over the younger man, though I'd never say it, and his well-being matters to me. I mean, even I'm trying to syphon off of morphling, as well.

"So…" he tries to start a conversation, but it's rather awkward now that I'm a bit confused about him. I smile, attempting to keep the tone of the conversation light and upbeat, but it just doesn't work.

And even Dalton, who has the brains of an eleven-year-old, can tell this.

Flitter, the escort, struts past in a turquoise evening gown. Her glass heels click on the stage, much like a judgmental parent or something, and she nods curtly at both Dalton and I. I respond in like, while Dalton himself trembles under her stern gaze.

"District Six," she speaks airily into the microphone. "We are gathered here today not to suggest death, but for hope of another victor." She pauses, eyeing Dalton and I up. "It has been twenty-three years since District Six has seen a victor, and so I hope one of the tributes this year… finds it within themselves to ultimately win."

Shifting within the crowd. Somebody uncomfortably clears their throat.

"Well, then." Flitter smiles warmly. I like her- she seems to actually care about the well-being of everybody, and she doesn't appear to be self-absorbed like most of the other escorts. "Let's begin with… your male."

She rummages her hand around in the glass fishbowl for a moment, drawing her hand out exaggeratedly. "Halcyon Chae!"

The boy is easily found out as he wastes no time in jogging up to the stage. A grim ghost of a smile is the first thing I see about him, but then I notice his pale hair and beautiful eyes. He's not too shabby-looking. If he finds himself some good allies, he could very well make it to the final five.

"Aria Verselis!"

I'm too busy scrutinizing Halycon to realize that Flitter's chosen another slip, so I look just in time as the said Aria mounts the stage. It took her a while… she must have been stunned, poor girl. A few slick tears streak down her slim cheeks as she tugs at a lovely red scarf, her mournful eyes searching the crowd.

I feel bad for the poor girl, but when push comes to shove, the dominant mentor should go with the dominant tribute, and I just _can't_ have the little, but sweet, Aria clogging up my time.

**Obsidian Krane, District Seven, Victor of the 83****rd**** Hunger Games**

"Welcome!"

"Does she ever stop?" moans Basil, falling back into his chair. He's not angry, really, simply annoyed. He's like this every year. Easily irked. It was worse when he demanded that he move into my Victor's Village home, even though he had a perfectly good one to himself. When instead of being annoyed, he was the one being annoying.

"I don't think so, brother," I reply smoothly, shrugging. I don't mind our escort, really.

"She's so bright." Basil wrinkles his nose, shuddering at her neon blue ensemble.

"I like that outfit," I reply absent-mindedly, eyes glued to her torso more than anything else.

Basil follows my gaze and snorts. "Dude, you have Birchia. Why are you undressing Enna with your eyes?"

I shrug once more, my stare unwavering. "Birchia's nice, man, but Enna is where it's at."

"You're such a player."

"Said the guy who's been married twice so far," I reply back, my snark still intact. "First Rowanda, now Arlo. Who's the player now, Basil?"

His cheeks flush in anger and, yes, irritation. He gets flustered so easily, honestly. "Rowanda broke it up with _me_," he snaps. "I had nothing to do with it!"

I roll my eyes. "Au contraire, brother," I murmur under my breath.

The mayor finishes up the speech about Panem's history with a flourish, and the escort comes forth. "Males or females first?" she says teasingly, tapping one of her electric blue nails against her lips.

Everybody knows that no matter what she chooses, a volunteer's voice will pierce through the silence. It's no secret that ever since the failed rebellion some fifteen years ago, families have been gathering privately to try and train like Careers. Axes are easy to get their hands on; as are machetes and hatchets. Trees become targets instead of plastic dummies and red ringed circles.

And yes, we have provided some wonderful victors, namely myself and my brother.

The deal Basil and I made with our parents was that Basil was to volunteer, and then both me and our littler brother, Axel, would be safe. Well, Basil came back, but I was still in the Reapings. Axel was Reaped, yada yada, I volunteered for family's honor, blah blah blah, and somehow I, the younger and less impressive brother, became victor.

I'm sure that some people are still trying to wrap their heads around this fact.

"Males, then?" Enna nods proudly, a smile gracing her bright blue lips. She starts strutting towards the set of glass bowls when out from a front section comes the familiar "I volunteer!"

The boy himself isn't that impressive, but what he lacks in appearance he makes up for in animated personality. Cockily, he tilts his head as he slowly clambers onto the stage, a cheeky smirk plastered onto his mug. "Brux Redragon," he drawls into the microphone, his movements sluggish.

Enna nods once more, her smile stretching from ear to ear. "Wonderful!" she proclaims, wrapping an arm around Brux. He's so tall, it barely reaches up to his armpits. "Brux, do you want to draw the female's slip, then?"

"My pleasure." He flashes a smirk and a nod before reaching into the glass bowl. Unlike Brux's volunteering, the place is dead silent. He forks the paper over to Enna, who promptly hollers out, "Aspen Northwood!"

A very loud gasp comes from one of the closer sections. I easily place the girl, with frightened watery eyes and a pixie cut, as she clutches another girl's hand. The second girl whispers something and, nodding dazedly, the pixie cut slowly makes her way onto the stage, spine locked and rigid.

"Anything to say, Aspen?" Enna beams.

Aspen Northwood shakes her head, eyes still bolted onto the other girl's.

"That's it, District Seven! Your _tributes_! Brux and Aspen, aren't they just _adorable_?"

**Velour Krum, District Eight, Victor of the 86****th**** Hunger Games**

"I can just feel it," hums Velvet as she taps her foot rapidly against the dusty floor of the stage. "This year we'll have a victor for sure."

I frown slightly. "How can you even say that? We might get two twelve-year-old kids who've never touched a needle, for all you know. What makes you so sure that this year is our year?"

Velvet locks eyes with me for a moment before shaking the critical question off with a light laugh. "Déjà vu, I suppose!"

I furrow my brows, hunching back into the chair. I don't know how Velvet does this every single year.

"Hello, District Eight!" the male escort, Gladius, arrives on stage, fluttering his yellowish wings animatedly. "Welcome to the Reapings for the 90th Hunger Games!"

"He's a fairy this year," I mutter, distraught.

"Makes up for it in tone, though." Velvet snorts. "Listen to that. Falsetto all the way."

Velvet's sort of like the sister I never had, despite being a great deal of years older than I. She has a wicked sense of humor and this optimistic sense on everything, including the Hunger Games and mentoring. It was her open nature that got me sponsors in my Games, including the blade that saved my life.

Though yes, there are the differences. Velvet was immediately remorseful in her few kills, while I had no regrets. It's Panem, right? We're forced to do this. It's not like it's on our own free will. Yes, at first I was a bit skeptical, but in the end, having no regrets did pay off.

"You're right. Nice accent this year, better than that cowboy one a few years ago." We shudder in unison, remembering the year of the 'howdy' and the 'y'all'.

Gladius surges forward, his wings bristling, and without wasting any time, withdraws a small white slip. My heart beats rapidly, just like it did the year I was Reaped, and every year before and after that.

"District Eight, your female will be Cayley Torelli!"

There's no movement for a bit- the entire pens seem to be frozen. Then, a general sigh of relief from every girl except Cayley Torelli. And that's when I see it- a head of glossy chestnut hair storming forward, her mouth wavering in between a nervous smile and a giant frown. Her eyes are welling up in tears, but at least she has the good sense not to spill any.

She takes her spot on the stage, quiet as a mouse, while Gladius hurries to pick the male's slip. I examine Cayley, her knees knocking together in fear. She looks decently strong, though she is a bit scrappier than the average tribute.

"District Eight, your male tribute this year is Tethys Acosta!"

There's no sound but the nervous, relieved laughs and sighs like there were for Cayley. Good, we don't have a set of screamers on our hands this year.

He's on the stage before I can see anything else. Devilish, darting eyes that still have their luster in them flicker around the stage, and his attempts to hide his growing smirk are in vain. He's almost _laughing_, for God's sake.

Why? He's just fourteen! This is like a death prediction come true for him, and he's _giggling_?

This doesn't go unnoticed on Velvet's part, either, as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Is the boy insane?" she whispers harshly, eyes trained on his smaller form.

I can only shrug numbly.

**Roland Sanders, District Nine, Victor of the 68****th**** Hunger Games**

It's here. Just like every year.

The Reapings.

It's so uncomfortable for me and Olivander both, to know that throughout almost twenty years we have not brought home a single victor. I cope with morphling, while Olivander depends on nearly every illegal thing that there is. Alcohol, cigarettes, morphling, you name it, he's on it. Sunken skin, hollow eyes, raspy breath. Everything.

And he hates it. _I_ hate it. I hate this life. I should have just stepped off my plate at the bloodbath, to be honest, just ended my life right then and there.

Anything, really, would have been better than this destiny. The twenty-three whose lives were ended quickly fared much better than me. Or perhaps I should have simply handed the scythe over to Kristine. Let her seal my fate.

I regret so many things. All the things I've done. I should have just….

"Roland."

I look up through a veil of sleepiness. "Hm?"

"I've been asking you to listen to me for the past five minutes." Olivander's dark, raspy voice is creepy. He turns his gaze from me to a lighter, where he then sets aglow a beige cigarette.

"Well, I'm listening now, so get it over with."

He coughs for a moment, eyes screwed in pain. "Should we decide on the tributes we want beforehand, just to avoid bias?"

"Yes," I nod. "I'll go with the guy. I can't stand being around so many young blond girls who remind me of Hydrangea."

Olivander tries to groan, but winds up hacking up a storm again. "Dude, you have to get over her. That's almost twenty-two years ago, man. Lighten up. The past is in the past, right?"

I shoot him a look.

"Just saying." He shrugs.

Rolling my eyes and attempting to go back and wallow in my misery, I turn from him as our escort, Brilliance, saunters onto the stage.

"District Nine," she grins cheesily. "What a pleasure to see you all again, with the addition of a ton of twelve-year-olds!"

My gaze darts to the back, where a load of pale-faced, scrawny young kids stand. One with auburn braids looks like she's about to faint.

"Firstly, let's all thank your wonderful mayor, Mr. Sterling Grader, for a lovely speech about the history of my own home, the Capitol!" Brilliance bounces up and down peppily, like some chirpy high school girl with hot pink and bronze dreadlocks. "It was wonderful, as it was each year, Mr. Grader!"

The mayor, a frail man with greying black hair, nods uncertainly, waving cheerlessly at the crowds.

"To mix things up a bit this year, I thought we'd go with the males first!" Brilliance beams, already at the giant glass bowls. Her silver hand thrusts into one, swishing around dramatically, until one lonely slip in particular becomes the bait for her exaggeratedly long nails.

"Hm… Let's hear it for Braxton Malory!"

My stare, still on the mayor, doesn't fade as he pales, grasping his chair in utter shock. I vaguely know Braxton's name. It's his own grandson. And I'm mentoring him.

I follow the mayor's gaze to a pale boy, who's clutching his stomach in surprise. He rapidly recovers, however, and really hams it up, jogging up the aisle with a sappy smile on his chin, obviously masking his emotions. I have to respect him for that, especially since he doesn't look a day over fourteen.

Brilliance eyes him up eagerly. "We always do like to see a cheery tribute," she giggles, already unfolding the next slip. "Hm, do we have a Maysa Barric here?"

I pick out the girl fairly easily, mainly because she slips out of her age group quickly. Her lovely brown curls are disrupted as she shakes her head, eyes mournfully trained on Brilliance, Olivander and I. I feel guilty, even though I did absolutely nothing to affect her- I'm not even mentoring her.

But as I glance over at Olivander to see his reaction, he's asleep. Doesn't even care anymore.

I really am alone in this effort, then. And I _hate_ it.

**Jamie Hills, District Ten, Victor of the 54****th**** Hunger Games**

Doggedly, I try to keep pace with the more slender and regal-looking Eagle, but it's difficult to keep up with her long strides. Her cold gaze freezes even Meriweather, who's sheepishly trying to talk with the mayor.

"Just like every year, then?" I ask, panting a bit. I've really been packing on the pounds since my husband died, and the endless supply of cakes and pastries and such being delivered to my home doesn't help at all.

"Correct." She throws her nose into the air again, more aloof than ever.

"So I get the weakling and you get the stronger, more competent tribute," I grumble under my breath, secretly cursing her. At the same time, I can't help but admire her casual attitude, how she can't give a second thought to anything with that airy personality. Almost sixty and still going strong, unlike myself, who's eight years younger.

"District Ten, your mentors, Eagle Hugh and Jamie Hills!"

I force a smile onto my chubby cheeks, raising a hand to the silent masses of children and adults both. No signs of warmth anywhere. Great. Just like last year, again.

I know how much they must have hated me as Alise became the first tribute whose blood splattered onto the ground of the arena. It couldn't have been my fault, though… she wasn't in the right mindset, and she was just fifteen. I still have nightmares about her, brown hair tied up neatly, as she strolled to a rapier dazedly.

How her neck snapped so quickly.

I shake the thought out of my head, remembering that at least Eagle's tribute lasted until the final fifteen. He was somewhat stronger. It's the closest we've been to victory for twenty-some years, anyways. Top fifteen.

Really shows how _trained_ and _honorable_ this district is.

Meriweather quickly hops over to the microphone, her silvery buzz cut glimmering in the late afternoon sun. "A-Ahem. District Ten. Yes, hello." She nods nervously, nodding quickly. She's more jittery than a rabbit on caffeine. "Shall we cut to the chase? Females first, per usual?"

Nobody replies, so Meriweather nervously chuckles and hurries over to the glass bowls.

"Sh-Shael Havern."

For a moment, the crowds are silent. Then, movement. Eagerly I watch as a fairly plain young woman, about eighteen, strides up to the stage briskly, her face pale and her nails digging into her palms. She's almost quivering, but I'm unsure if it's from fear or anger. Her face gives almost nothing away- oh, no, wait… she's biting her lip. Fear, probably. But from a distance, if you saw her, she'd be stoic, almost emotionless. I smile warmly. She's a regular actress!

"Um, the males now?" Meriweather wraps a comforting arm around Shael, pulling her in, and the younger girl stands stiffly, unsure of what to do. I stifle a laugh as Meriweather's voice rings out. "Cade Bennett?"

A young boy's voice cries out, and immediately I know that this is my tribute. Interested, I peer over the tops of tall children, to see a slight scuffle with a short boy and a Peacekeeper. The boy struggles against the older person's strong grip, and is quickly shoved in the direction of the stage. With flushed cheeks and an embarrassed expression, Cade rushes up to the stage, eyes darting nervously.

Eagle snorts. "I've got-"

"Shael," I reply coldly. "Yes, I know. You get the better tribute, and most likely Cade will be a bloodbath and Shael won't get much farther." Eagle's icy façade appears to be shattered as I snap, "It's the same song and dance every year, Eagle, and nobody likes it. We're basically killing their kids. Next year I should just stick you with the freaking bloodbath tribute, see how _you_ like it."

And for the first time in forever, Eagle is tongue-tied.

**Hudson Rhine, District Eleven, Victor of the 87****th**** Hunger Games**

_Alone_.

The nagging voice at the back of my mind is repetitive and relentless both, whispering angry words into my ears, filling my mind with curses and hell.

_You're just alone, Hudson. You keep failing. Why do you keep failing?_

The only way to get them to stop is to answer them- and I must answer truthfully, or else they become darker and angrier than ever.

"I fail because I've lost hope." My whisper is ragged, my breath quivering and tremulous.

_It's just your third year, Hudson. You can't already have lost hope._

"You know when you've lost hope." I swallow thickly.

_It's only been four tributes. Four tributes, each of them dead at the bloodbath. Some advice you give them, huh?_

I grip the handles of my chair, sweat breaking out through my forehead. "I do what I can," I say quietly, on the verge of tears, "but I just can't help the fact that their deaths are unaccounted for."

_You're their last hope._

The world before me seems dizzy. I squeeze my eyelids shut, shaking my head a few times to try and clear up any nausea that comes my way. My fingers scrabble in the pocket of my jacket, searching desperately for the sharp tip of the morphling needle, and I have to restrain myself from slamming it into my bluish vein. It takes a while, yes, but I can feel the drug working its way through every part of me to calm myself.

When the escort, Prius, comes around to tell me that he'll be announcing my arrival soon, I'm pretty much prepped, my voices gone. I'm even smiling slightly. I don't see why people say morphling is a bad thing. Taken responsibly, it has wonderful, positive outcomes.

"Welcome to the Reapings, District Eleven! I'd like to welcome your trustworthy, amazing mentor, Hudson Rhine!"

A smile painted humbly over my chin, I stride out to the stage, nodding and trying to keep the tone of the Reaping light, though I know it never will be.

"Shall we start, Hudson?" Prius smiles, and even though every fiber of my body advises against it, I nod dumbly.

A gloved hand. Glass fishbowl. One slip, soon to be thrown to their death.

"Kiera Brennan!" barks out Pruis.

"_NOPE_!"

With a snap of my head, I whip my gaze over to a redheaded girl, currently screaming like her life is about to end- which it is- and flailing her limbs about. Immediately a troop of Peacekeepers seize her, as she's screaming "It's true, it's true!" and in unison, they thrust her onstage.

I stare at the writhing girl with a sense of agony myself.

She scrambles to her feet, doggedly leaping over to me, panting. "You're Hudson," she shrieks out, eyes wide and feral. "You can _save_ me, I know you can!"

"N-No…" I stammer out, slinking back in my chair from the crazy girl. _I'm mentoring her?!_

"_Yes, you can_!" she screams out, slamming her foot onto the stage with a kick of her leg. Peacekeepers rush to the stage again, three of them immediately placing her in a chokehold.

Prius is visibly wavered. "Well," he starts out, his voice faltering. "Let's… um… let's go with the males now. So… well…. Come on up, Cole Tenacity!"

A disruption in the front row is caused by a solemn-looking boy, tall and threatening-looking. He must be better off, since he's stockier than most in the district. His eyes widened, trained on Kiera, he mounts the stage quietly.

So this is it- an insane girl and a reserved guy who, so far, has shown no emotion?

Not exactly victor material, but of course I'll try.

**Grey Ray, District Twelve, Victor of the 76****th**** Hunger Games**

"District Twelve, I'm just so glad to be escorting for you all this year!" Bubblez bounces up and down, her bright smile somewhat diminished by her loud bubblegum pink lips.

I groan inwardly, shaking my head. Even Prius was better. At least he wasn't the freakish new escort, he was seasoned with three years of work. He was kind, too. He didn't treat the tributes like possessions, like the escorts before did. He knew they were human and even treated them like his own children, rubbing their backs when they were down and trying to cheer them up.

And then there's freakish Bubblez.

I mean, the girl is called Bubblez. She insisted that the 'z' is absolutely necessary and therefore, must also be pronounced with it. 'Bubblezzz'. Like a bumblebee, really.

Plus, she can't be a day over seventeen. She's probably getting special treatment since she's some daughter of a Gamemaker or something. It's not fair at all, but I've learned through twenty-plus years as a mentor that things just aren't fair in life. It doesn't matter how you get there as long as you do, right?

Right. That's how I went from the timid little girl to the brutal killing machine, swinging my swords without mercy.

"Soooooo!" the escort squeals, kicking up a heel. "I'm sure that this year District Twelve will bring home a victor for sure, so why beat around the bush when we can immediately pick the victor, huh?"

Silence. I cough just to make her feel a bit better, since I can almost see her excited orange ponytails droop.

"Let's get on with it, then!" Bubblez offers me a grateful smile, which I don't return immediately. It's only after she turns that the corners of my lips turn up.

The slips rustle in her hand, and the familiar banging of my heart reminds me how nervous I was, and constantly am, whenever the slips are pulled. Just a constant reminder that death is real.

"Haven Faye, come on up!"

A blond girl, rather frail, is quick to storm up. She doesn't cry, a definite bonus. Instead, she marches straight to Bubblez and, with a slight movement, she slaps her forearm. Bubblez is unaffected- she must be made of armor or something – and simply gazes back at Haven with pity.

"I'm sorry that it had to happen, but rules are rules, sweetheart," she says soothingly. My heart gives a funny leap. Maybe I misjudged Bubblez. Maybe she does have a soul.

"I'll be quick… Kinton Machek?"

A strangled cry is let out from the female's side, and emerging from one of the front rows is a baby-faced guy, slightly shorter than the average male. Draped in a black coat, he looks rather odd as he stumbles up to the stage, a few tears dripping out of his darkening brown eyes. His gaze meets mine for a moment and he tries a smile.

My heart officially melts like butter for this poor boy who's basically signed a death wish.

"District Twelve, I leave you with a smile and a 'May the odds be ever in your favor!'"

Not while I'm mentoring, there won't be.

**A/N: Like Yesterday by Luke Conard.**

**Ahhh, I loathe Reapings, so I told myself to just sit down and get them all done. Yeah, they suck, I know… Anyways.**

**I'm going on vacation soon, two and a half weeks, so if the next update is very late, I won't have wifi. I don't know. Hotels can be sketchy, no?**

**Anyways, questions.**

**1\. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2\. Favorite escorts/mentors?**

**3\. Which tributes stood out to you?**

**4\. Who are you looking forward to seeing?**


	4. The Outsider

_**.**_

_**These people are weird in here, and they're giving me the fear.**_

_**Just because you know my name doesn't mean you know my game.**_

**Merritt Cordeau, District Four**

The muted sounds of Juno, Sequin, Annie, and Nuke speaking are drowned out by the continuous whine of the train's wheels. Rather annoying, really, but who am I to complain? I'm just the stereotypical volunteer from Four, after all.

"The tributes this year look tough." I latch onto the conversation easily, locking eyes with my mentor as he speaks. "The Reapings showed that."

"We didn't even get to see them," I protest quietly, gazing at the ground purposefully.

Nuke frowns. "You didn't? … ah, never mind. I was thinking about how Annie and I watched the replays a while ago. You would like to watch them all, I'm guessing?"

"Of course," Juno answers him with a laid-back grin. "We can after dinner."

"That's too late for me," Annie butts in, eyes widened like saucers. "I… I have a meeting with Sequin after supper. Would during supper be fine?"

We all agree, murmuring our assent and such. I expect Nuke to start lecturing Juno and I about the dangers of the Career pack or whatever, but surprisingly, he simply nods tiredly and starts sluggishly moving to his own compartment, leaving us completely alone.

Annie and the silly-dressed escort leave after a few moments as well, Annie with a soft smile and Sequin with a haughty toss of her hair. Juno and I are left sitting on the benches, all alone.

While I'm sitting very rigid, still taking in my colorful surroundings, Juno starts making herself at home- throwing her feet up, yawning loudly, and snuggling into the cushioned bench. I wonder how she stays so calm, when the dark shadow of the Games is slowly pulling over both of us.

"So," she begins, her voice musical, "Stupid people, huh?"

I nod stiffly, lacing my fingers together. "Nuke is alright," I admit truthfully.

"Sure, and I guess I'm expected to say Annie's the nicest lady in the world," Juno sighs. She shakes her head playfully, causing her loose red hair to whip around. "Nah, I'm kidding. They're not too bad, once you get used to their prissy ways and arrogant beings."

"They're not arrogant. They used to be one of us, Juno, just kids who wanted to get home. They worked really hard for this."

"True," she says, but I have a feeling she's just saying that to get me off her back. Juno seems kind of like a flippant person. Not one that I'd usually mesh with.

"So where'd you come from, Merritt?" she raises a thin eyebrow. "I don't recognize you much."

"My family kept a low profile," I shrug. "What about you?"

Juno eyes me up for a moment before replying that her family was a quiet one as well, along with a couple more random facts that I don't remember. Something along the lines of free will and all that. And then she yawns once again. "I think I'll take a nap. Refresh myself for dinner, you know?"

"Okay."

I watch her limber form as it stumbles back to her train compartment, arms swinging idly and hair flowing. District partner-wise, I think that I lucked out. Juno's really not too bad, rather laid-back and chill. Better than a bouncy fourteen-year-old, on any rate. I smile as I remember Dallia from last year, the picture of a hyper, young Career.

Career.

Will that one word alone define me? No doubt that it will be generally tossed my way whenever I walk by somebody. "Oh, here comes the blond Career boy." I bet they won't even remember my name, just the fact that I'm a trained murderer.

The thought makes me shiver.

Dinner comes quickly, a buffet of assorted foods and drinks, soups and salads. My eyes flicker over each individual dish hungrily. Stuff like this would be pretty pricey in District Four, even though we're one of the richest districts.

"Gulp down some food as you watch, children." Sequin, the escort, leers creepily. I watch in mild fascination as her painted, curved nails fish a piece of bread from the basket, and quickly make a mental note not to take any bread at this meal.

The television mounted onto the wall flashes the Capitol seal briefly before dissolving into the number 'One'. I watch in fascination as a brunette girl, Carisa, introduces herself, and then some boy named Soren. They don't seem very happy to be each other's partners- or Carisa, at least- and I manage to catch a glimpse of the mentors looking both perplexed and amused as the scene switches to District Two.

"Already some fractures in your alliance with just the first district," Nuke points out. "Watch out for that, you two."

Stuffing a spoonful of beef broth into my mouth, we all watch as another brunette female mounts the stage. Eidra. She's really pretty and tanned, and quite a contrast, compared to her pale district partner, Wraith.

"Eidra's good, I've seen her around. And Wraith is something new, I have never even heard of him. District Two's taking a hard bargain this year with him, you two. He may be the backstabbing tribute they've been trying to keep under wraps." Nuke looks worried. "The one that changes the fate of the Games."

Juno gasps on cue, and I nod, trying to keep a leash on the whirling thoughts in my head. Backstabbing tribute? I must ask him about that later.

District Three's impressive for once, with a fiery-haired girl storming up to the stage and spitting her name at the escort. The male, on the other hand, is simply a bloodbath for sure- a young boy with a solemn expression. He's frail, too. The girl's somebody to watch out for, though, definitely.

"Bloodbath," Juno mutters as she watches the boy sigh faintly, under the camera's harsh glare.

But that's where Annie, the quiet one, surprises me. She whirls around with fury in her eyes, and spits out, "Don't ever count out the 'weakest' one, Juno. They'll only come to stab you in the back."

**Aria Verselis, District Six**

Rule number one, don't get attached. Look what good that's gotten me! I've basically _invited_ myself to be allies with him!

And each time Halcyon glances over at me, faint smile clear as day on his lips, I internally pinch myself.

He was so upset and broken, though, I couldn't help but make small talk with him, my notebook as my ally. And then I got to know him. And then we started telling each other about our pasts. And he accepted that I could not talk around him, had to write everything down to communicate. He was much more open and accepting than most people.

I suppose I was drawn to that.

He's better than our mentors, too. Gingham's constantly insulting us, making critical notes about our appearances and such, and Dalton, my mentor, doesn't seem to be all there. His childish, blank personality is a bit off-putting.

And the worst part? Everything is so fancy here, and I feel so out of place! I mean, when we first boarded the train, a hot cheese fountain was directly in front of me, and our escort started shoving random blobs of whitish bread underneath it. "Fondue", she'd called it, and tried teaching me how to do it. But I didn't catch on at all.

Everything is so new and freaky here. I can't stand it.

"Only five minutes till Capitol, people!" Flitter hisses, smoothing down her long yellow dress and primping her hair at the same time. "Look presentable!"

I glance down at my Capitol-issued outfit— plain, slim black pants, a white sweater with streaks of grey, sensible black slippers, and my red scarf. To humor Flitter, I pretend to be admiring myself in a nearby mirror, fingertips at my face, until she struts away.

Halcyon walks in from the dining room car, apple in hand. He's clad in the same outfit I am, though his pants are a bit looser and, of course, he has no scarf. "What'd she say?"

I hold up a hand, fingers outstretched. Five.

"Ah." He nods appreciatively, settling into a chair. "I think I can see the opening stretch of the Capitol, too— look."

I turn to a window, eyes widening as I do. The Capitol itself hasn't lied about its majestic glory. The few buildings I can see are ginormous, candy-colored, and frilly. I suppose the escorts are there to prepare us, in a way. The train rides, as well.

"Wow," I breathe.

Halcyon is less impressed, humming under his breath and chomping off another bite of apple. "Nice place for a bunch of kids to die, huh?"

I look at him, nose wrinkled.

He sighs and shrugs. "Why mince words, Aria? That's what they're doing. Worst comes to worst, we'll both be _dead_."

I blink, cheeks heating up. I want to tell him not to be such a cynical person, to lighten up a bit. But he's right, I know that. We both probably will die. In a few years, neither of us will be remembered. Pawns in a game, knocked to the ground.

Our glory days are over.

The huge city draws closer and closer until the train dives into darkness. A tunnel. Seals of the Capitol occasionally flash as the wheels zip over the metal rails.

Suddenly, our train car is bathed in light as the train itself pulls up to a platform. My eyes are spinning once I see a load of funny little people waving, screaming, cheering— did they say 'Aria'?

"They're _cheering_ us." Halcyon seems amused.

Flitter struts into the room, her gorgeous black hair swept into a high knot on top of her head. "These are the times you'll want to remember, darlings," she sighs, escorting both of us to the windows. Halcyon stares out blankly, though I swear I can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. Me? Out of sheer nervousness – or maybe it's hysteria – I wave, my lips peeling back into a beam.

The silly people react accordingly, shrieking and waving their hands even more frantically. They love me – rather, me and Halcyon, that is. We may even have sponsors!

The stretches of people don't end until the train pulls into another tunnel. But it's only mere moments until there are even more, but the numbers of these are even greater. It's overwhelming.

"You don't have to wave to these people, darlings," Flitter shrugs, walking away from the window. "I doubt most of them have enough money to buy you life-saving tonics and such. The first people, those are the sponsors you'll most likely deal with."

I find myself scribbling something down in my notebook. 'Why'?

"The first people? Honey, they're always the richer ones. They pay for the first glimpse of you, which means that they are usually loaded. The rest are simpletons. They don't pay for their spots in seeing the trains come by."

I nod, frowning a bit. Is that how they're described in the Capitol? Simpletons? They look just as shiny and peppy as all the rest to me. Maybe there's something I'm not getting.

Halcyon snorts. "Wake me up when you don't classify your type as poor people," he sighs, walking out of the train car to his compartment.

Flitter watches him go with a mixture of disappointment and slight anger. "He'll be tougher to fix up, but you, Aria, are much more presentable." She beams. "Once we get you in a pretty dress, maybe some simple eye make-up, the crowds will simply eat you up!"

I smile weakly.

Great, I think as she walks away, heels tapping softly along the carpeted floor. I have to be put on show, like at an auction or something, for the people who will eventually be watching the end of my life. Is it always like this, here? Why is everybody so casual about it?

In a way, I admire Halcyon. While he's staying true to himself, here I am, overthinking everything and being overall a lapdog. Playing by the rules, being gung ho, everything. But I don't want to be that. All I want to be is myself, and nothing less than myself. Aria Verselis, the quiet one. The dependable one. The meek, the humble, the kind-spirited. Not the show-offy one. Or the prideful, peppy one.

And definitely not the murderous one.

**Haven Faye, District Twelve**

"Yow," I hiss as the silver-skinned one, Flattop or Flattie something equally stupid, rips another strip of paper off of my arm.

She peers at me over thick, purple glasses. "Honey, stay still. It'll be a lot less painful."

"I don't want to stay still. I'm not _lazy_."

"Too bad for you, then." The male, Yak, glares at me with lemon yellow eyebrows. "We've had no trouble with other tributes in the past, Heaven. Why should you be any different?"

"It's Haven," I protest feebly, my mouth slamming shut as the one with starfish woven into her hair, Trappie, comes at me with a tweezers. My heart thuds. "Why are you coming at my face with those?"

"You got a mustache," she replies busily, already snipping off the hair on my upper lip.

"Are you insane? You could cut off some of my lip or whatever!"

"We could do with a bit less of your lip, anyways," Yak jovially remarks, and the two women join in raucously.

I shut up after that, simmering in my own rage.

Honestly, it's people like them who have made me like this. Angry. Hardened. And it's the people like them who've gotten me in this situation, anyways. It's infuriating, really, to know that the unfortunate people with actual personalities and lives have to go into that arena, while people who only care about the colors they're going to dye their nose hairs, like them, get to watch from the sidelines with popcorn.

"Finally!" crows Trappie as she peels out one last hair follicle. I rub my aching lip, glaring all the while. "We can now hand you over to Wholly!"

I nearly moan as she says his name- Wholly. The infuriating names these people come up with. What's next, Sugar or Skippy?

The three goons leave the room, leaving me feeling exposed until I grab up a robe. Then it's just me, alone like I've always been.

Loneliness doesn't immediately set in, though. After hours of agonizing accents and the continuous peeling of papers from my skin, solitude is actually appreciated. I sit there in the room, eyes grazing around the colorful landscape of shelves and stools. There was never much color back in District Twelve. We were lucky if there was a splotch of blue in our sunsets. Grey skies, coated with smog and ashes from all the coal we burn- ironically, burning coal to retrieve more.

But for whose benefit? The Capitol's. Like I said before, the people who receive everything also get the best entertainment. Unfair. And this 'Wholly' guy. I bet he's the newcomer to stylists and such, so they stuck him with the least-desired district. Nobody in their right mind would want the district of failed rebels and coal miners. Ever since District Thirteen merged with District Twelve, every year of the Games has brought a scrappy girl and a scrappy boy. This year's no different. At least in District Eleven or Ten or whatever, there's diversity.

I hear the door shut and my heart's racing again. I whip my head to the side to see a small, dark-skinned man with whitish-cobalt hair. He doesn't look too bad. He seems all sage and wise, anyways, not like some newbie. I allow a relieved smile to grace my face, but it's very brief.

"You're Haven, huh?"

"That's my name."

He adjusts some thin spectacles, his eyes flickering over me. "Stand up, please?"

Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I comply. "What do you need to know?"

"Ah, just measurements and such. The outfit is designed, we just need to know your coordinates in order to fit the dress to your size."

"Eighty pounds and five feet." I fib.

He looks at me with strange, purplish eyes. "I know that's a lie. You're actually better-fed than most of the kids we bring in."

I frown, a hand flying to my wrist. "That's a lie, too, isn't it? My parents never overfed me or anything like that. I mean, my bones still jut out." I shake my arms for emphasis, allowing the joints to pop accordingly. Wholly's eyes widen and I smirk. I've gotten used to the gyrating, creaking, feeble joints.

"I admit, it may be a lie, but your joints… they're terrible!" Wholly shakes his head.

"Yeah, can we just get to the chariot outfit part? This is kind of boring, just reliving my past life," I say. "I mean, yeah, I want to get home and all that, but talking about the bad parts of my past sure isn't going to help."

He nods, coughing slightly. He scans me over, wrapping yellow tapes around my waist and such. It takes just a couple minutes, and once he's done, he produces a shiny, black, long bag. Must be for my dress.

The material that he pulls out is not too impressive; it looks like some charred wood. I think I vaguely recognize it from the trashcans around the Victor's Village, where I sometimes poked around. I think it's material from the traditional flaming outfits that they've displayed proudly ever since the Seventy-Fourth Games, just before the rebels' revolt. Flames have become the District Twelve trademark, though in my opinion they've become incredibly boring.

I slide the dress on as quickly as I can, trying to avoid eye contact. My stylist comes up behind me, tugging at pieces of fabric and random ribbons all around. Next comes a golden necklace, adorned with glittering stones. For the final touch, Wholly hands me some flat orangey slippers. "You look great," he says softly, leering as he comes behind me with a slim silver tool.

"What's that?"

"Just something to curl your hair. Don't be so paranoid."

Trying to relax my muscles, I listen absent-mindedly as he blabbers on and on about lighting the bottom of the dress, remembering to wave and maybe try and work a team angle with Kinton, everything.

He lets me go with a final flicker of his eyes.

And then it's just me- just me, two shimmering black horses, a lighter, and my youthful-looking district partner.

**Soren Valen, District One**

My throat is a desert.

"C-Cary," I choke out, eyes swimming in silent tears as she struts away, head held high. That's all I've seen of her since she met Hollis. The back of her silky hair, slim figure. She's never upheld a true conversation with me since then. Even on the train she blatantly refused to speak with me, shutting herself in her compartment.

Sheen was no help, simply burped and said that Carisa was furious, as if she had a right to be stuck up in our personal business. Teal offered a bit more advice, confiding in me that he'd been rejected multiple times as well. But they couldn't help me. The only thing that can help me is she, Carisa, _Cary_…

Plucking a stray rhinestone from my hair, I dart after her, where she and the rest of the Careers have gathered around the District Two chariot. I've learned their names. Eidra, the hyper-looking brunette. Wraith, he of the pale skin and stocky build. Juno, the redhead with the cool demeanor, and Merritt, the stern-looking blond. And then, of course, Cary.

But once I arrive at the wheel of the chariot, it's her willowy form that blocks me from the group. I gently try to nudge past her, but to no avail.

Luckily, Juno notices me and with a small smile, she offers me a spot next to her and Wraith. I gratefully accept, grinning toothily back at her. I like her a lot already.

"So, that's why I think I should be your Career leader." Merritt finishes with a curt nod, eyes flickering around the circle. My stomach churns as Cary raises her hand, replying in like to him and clearing her throat.

"Um, yes, that's all wonderful reasons, Merritt, but I have one quick thing to bring up before any final arrangements are made." Her tone is serious, but her beaming smile suggests otherwise. "I'd like to say that I don't think my district partner should ally with us."

"Why not?" Eidra is quick to ask.

"I can't say why, really." Cary's eyes well up with tears, but I know she's faking them. Manipulating is definitely her strong suit, which was something I admired about her. "I-I'm sorry, Eidra, but… it's just too painful for me to speak of. He broke something truly dear to me, wrecked my life…"

My stomach does another funny flip. My throat turns to ice. None of that is true, she _has_ to understand that…!

But both Eidra and Juno gasp, eyes widening accordingly. They're buying it. Cary continues, dabbing at her eyes. "How do you think I feel when I work my entire life for this, and just to grind my gears, he volunteers alongside me, knowing that it'll totally throw me off my game?"

"Terrible," Juno whispers, eyes darting over to me, no longer friendly and open.

"Wait." Wraith Elvery speaks up for the first time, hand held high. "How do we know that you're not the liar, Carisa? For all we know, you just took a disliking to him and you're trying to force him out of the group already." Heart swelling, I silently thank the guy for sticking up for me.

"Trust, I guess?" Cary sighs, as if a weight has been pushed onto her shoulders. "I can't back it up, I admit that. But Soren can't lie…" she turns to me, face set.

My knees knock. She knows that I can't testify against her. I love her too much.

"Soren?" she prods, eyes full of spite and fury. I can tell that she's one step away from losing control.

Swallowing dryly, I stammer out, "I… I can't… Cary…"

Eidra looks at me, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed. "Stop it," she speaks forcefully. "I'm going to stick by my girl here, Soren. If you hurt her, you shouldn't be allowed to be near her at all."

"Girl code," echoes Juno.

I look helplessly at Merritt and Wraith. Wraith looks at me, his expression pitying and slight woe. The blond guy simply stares at me, eyes darkening and scanning over me, scrutinizing me. I feel exposed. "Two against three." Merritt sighs. "Sorry, man."

Sorry, man.

When will people understand that 'sorry' just doesn't cut it?

My senses numb, I trudge back to the chariot. It's like I'm walking through syrup. Cary, the only person who I truly felt at home with, has betrayed me. I thought she'd be understanding and hopefully she'd be able to trust me for the things I've done. I thought I knew her well enough to assume that.

But what she just did is… is shocking, to say the least.

I mount the chariot, clutching the silver bar with one hand. The impending noise coming from behind the closed doors seems drawn-out, emphasized. I blink sluggishly, blinking dumbly.

Some monotone voice tells the tributes to prepare for the parade by getting onto their chariots. I watch mournfully as Cary steps onto the platform next to me, her lips peeled back in a snarl.

"Just stay away from me and we shouldn't have a problem, _jerk_." Her words are like acid, cutting not only into my skin but also my mind.

The horses suddenly jerk us through the heavy-paneled doors, and I clutch the bar for support until they're maintaining a casual yet brisk stride. I can tell by the shrieks on Cary's side that she's already waving, blowing kisses to gain sponsors. What shall I do? Without the Career pack, I'm nothing. No sponsors. No allies.

Forcing a grin upon my thin lips, I raise a hand to the colorful audience on my side. The flashes are overwhelming, the screams overly exaggerated and gleeful.

And then I hear the slow chant of my name- "So-_ren_! So-_ren_! So-_ren_!"

Happiness floods into my heart as if from a straw. Hope enters my mind.

Will I be… _accepted_ here?

**Cade Bennett, District Ten**

"Nervous, Cade?"

Shael frowns lightly as I shake my head energetically, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly. "Not at all," I admit, scratching my neck and watching the District One chariot, clad in shimmery bathing suits and gemstones, as it rolls through the doors into the bright room beyond. "What about you?"

Her wide brown eyes, framed by a brownish makeup, blink a couple times as she struggles to find an answer. "Um, same."

One thing that I've learned about Shael? She's not one to uphold a good conversation with. Oh, and she's more shy than anything, though Jamie tells me that she's just masked, whatever that means.

District Two's chariot sinks through the doors, their two tributes clad in silvery soldier costumes. "I love everything here," I sigh, talking half to myself and half to her. "The food, the people. They're so kind."

Looking at me in a strange way, Shael shakes her head. We watch as District Three goes through the doors, their tributes as different as night and day, though their outfits (sparking wires draped fashionably around their bodies) are similar. District Four is nothing special, the tributes waving as their green fishing outfits shimmer.

"District Five looks great this year," I comment as I watch the girl, her beautiful smile radiating towards the crowd and the lanky boy, his shy beam causing many gasps in the crowd. Their skin-tight silver bodysuits are certainly attention-grabbing.

Shael murmurs something I don't catch.

District Six with their pale skin slicked up with what appears to be oil is next to go, and then District Seven, both of the tributes clad in flimsy paper outfits. A funny churning in my belly begins as the next district leaves, both of their tributes in bodysuits of differing materials and colors.

"Only two away!" I chirp, glancing sideways at Shael. "C'mon, Shay, don't be like that."

A small smile plays on her lips. "Shay? That's so stupid."

I grin, happy to have gotten a rise out of her. "C'mon, it's not that bad. Here, think of a nickname for me."

Just like that, our moment is gone. Her smile fades and she looks away, to the side. "I don't know."

I purse my lips, observing as the chariot in front of us rolls into the light. The tributes there, Maysa and Braxton, I've learned, are both dressed in clothing with what looks like straw woven into the fabrics, causing a glittering golden effect.

"I hope the people like our outfits," I murmur, glancing down at my cow-printed outfit. The splotches of black and white, along with the headband of horns that they forced me to wear, isn't that flattering, but in the Capitol anything goes. I snort, "I bet the people back home will hate them. This is so stereotyped."

Shael adjusts her horns, tugging at her cowbell necklace. "It's not about what they think anymore. Capitolites are the only people who can sponsor us, Cade."

I'm about to reply back with a joke when our chariot pulls forward, separating us from the firey Twelve tributes and the two from Eleven in their overalls and hats.

"Whoa," I murmur, eyes huge as I see the thousands and thousands of people, all gathered in the stands to see us. This is incredible.

"Start waving, little boy," Shael mutters before plastering on a bright smile, unbelievably forced, and starting to wave.

What shall I do? District Eleven is already pulling out behind us, and I _want_ to make an impression.

Feeling my heart leap as a girl with raven hair catches my eye, I let loose a joyous whoop, barely hearing it above the shrieking and cheering of the crowd. Feeling energetic, I clutch the bar in front of me and hop up and down a couple times, grinning all the time.

I wonder what my family back home is thinking of this.

Pa's probably watching the screen with that familiar twinkle in his eye. Momma, I bet that she's crying into her apron, but maintaining a firm stare on the television. And Winston? Gee, he probably has a broken arm already, maybe even a broken leg, but no doubt his eyes would be glued to the television.

I let a wide, genuine beam overpower my cheesy, toothy grin. My eyes fall upon a camera, just above the crowd, its lens searching and scanning each chariot in turn. When it points at the District Ten chariot, I make sure to shriek out a quick, "Hi, Momma! Hi, Pa!" before it pans to the next one.

"What was that for?" Shael asks rudely.

Grinning, I shrug. "Just wanted to say 'hey' to my folks. Nothing wrong with that."

She stares at me for a while, her huge brown eyes unblinking, until her attention is averted to the ring of chariots. District Nine pulls to the left, and our horses give a sharp turn until we're directly next to the District Eight chariot.

The boy, about my age, with a sinister smirk plastered onto his mug, glances over at us and winks. The girl, with striking features and dark hair, looks pale and somewhat tense.

Not the best allies, if you ask me.

I shrug and focus on Mrs. Snow, her soft blond hair cascading just above her shoulders. Her face is strict, eyes unwavering. They never leave the ring of tributes until District Twelve pulls in next to us, and then she begins her speech.

It's not very long, just a couple minutes or so, but it's enough time for me to realize how much power she really is in. It must be wonderful, to know that you own twelve districts, plus a thriving Capitol. How much effort must have been locked carefully into place in order to maintain complete control over everything. And it wasn't her job, either. I'm told in school that her father, Coriolanus Snow, was the actual person who did it.

In a way, I'm glad he's not alive anymore. He would have freaked me out way too much.

Her speech finishes up. Slowly, from behind the chariots, a low trumpet sounds in tribute to the 'fallen', as she put it. I feel like I should salute or something, but everybody else seems to be rigid and in their place, so I follow the crowd.

"_Lovely_ speech, wasn't it, Cade?" Shael sighs from next to me, her voice hushed.

I glance up at her and smile, talking in the same tone she used. "It really _was_."

**Maya Verone, District Five**

Bidding Ezra farewell and hopping off the chariot, wincing inside my skintight suit, I start milling around. Staying still in that chariot was terrible. If I can't be in motion, I feel like I'm trapped.

I notice the girl from Six eyeing me up, her lips slightly puckered. I'd go over to talk to her, but there are bigger fish in the pond, better people for alliances. And no offense to her, she seems really sweet, but she's both small and fragile. Rolling my shoulders back and letting my deep brown hair out of its tight braid, I start jogging.

The tributes this year look fierce, but none look fancy or anything. Even the duo from One seem stiff in their pretentious costumes. Nobody, really, that would be a good victim. I frown slightly. Where's the fun in that?

"Maya?" Ezra's tense voice pierces the uncomfortable silence.

I whirl back to him, tilting my head slightly.

"U-Um…" he swallows, the lump in his throat bobbing. "Would you l-like to go back to the apartment?"

He's kind of cute, being all gawky and awkward and shy. I grin.

"Not right now, Ezra," I reply lightly. "I'd like to get a feel for who I think would make a good ally, before everybody's snatched up. You know?"

He looks at me with those deep eyes of his, eyebrows drawing together. "Um, should I stay with y-you?" he stammers out, visibly nervous.

"If you like." I offer him an easy-going grin. "Don't fear, Ezra. You don't have to be shy around me."

He hesitates before offering me another smile, this one filled with dread and fear. "O-Okay. That sounds good, Maya."

I wink, giggling lightly at his awkwardness, before tugging at the top of my silver bodysuit again. I feel so restricted in this thing.

I off-handedly grab a large chunk of wood that adorns the District Seven chariot and started sawing at my shoulder with a jagged part. Before I know it, the incredibly thin material gives away and I'm left with a much less binding suit, held together by the fabric coming up my other shoulder. Lovely.

Pulling off the tight silvery boots and casting them to the side, I start padding along with my newly bare feet. I can feel Ezra gawking at me, and I notice all the eyes of the other males glued to me. It makes me feel uncomfortable, to be honest. Why are they such perverts? All I did was take off my shoes, cut off a strap. Nothing _scandalous_.

My eyes connect with the girl from Nine, Maysa. She's sitting on the edge of her chariot, eyes flickering over everybody in silent observance. Ah, a tribute who's not knee-deep in shallowness, I like it.

"Hello there," I greet her as I hop onto the step of her chariot, hopping onto the bar for a seat.

She wrinkles her nose, obviously not happy with my company. "What are you doing here?"

I answer with an easy-going smile, running my tongue along my teeth. "Nothing much, just observing people. The same as you."

Maysa half-smiles. "I saw your little show out there. Every eye was on you."

I groan internally. "I know, and I wish they'd stop. Nothing here to see, people. I mean," I start giggling again, "there _is_ something for them to look at, but… they don't have to be so perverted about it."

She raises her eyebrows. "That's just how guys are, too perverted to look anywhere but down."

Gasping in delight, I give her a shove. She is quick to push me back, but I'm quick on my feet. I roll over the side of the chariot, one hand grabbing the edge, and I rely on my biceps alone to swing my feet up to the other corner of the chariot. When I pop my head over the edge, Maysa is gawking at me.

"Where'd you learn to do that, the zoo? You look like a monkey!"

Winking and pulling myself over the edge, I hop off the chariot. "Ah, a good magician- or should I say monkey- never reveals her secrets." She looks intrigued. I plod forward. "So, Maysa, the real reason I came over here was to scout you out for an alliance. What d'you think, do I have a shot at being your ally?" I smirk. "You seem decent enough to get along with."

"And you as well," she replies dryly, sizing me up. "You know what? Sure, I'll give you a chance. Anybody else and I'd crumple them."

Shaking my head, I say, "You're so wiry, though!"

"And you're like an ape!"

We share a smile together- nothing major, since Maysa doesn't really seem the type to be all happy-go-lucky or playful like I usually am. More sarcastic and dry, if you know what I'm saying.

But ah, yes. Who knows? Perhaps our personalities will mesh well, drawing in other allies. Ezra, for one. He and perhaps the girl from Ten, or maybe the boys from Six and Eleven. They all could be threats if they applied themselves.

I wave goodbye to Maysa, smirking all the while, and hop into an elevator with Ezra and the boy from Three, Griff. It's silent as we go up in peace, every mind thinking on its own good accord.

When Maysa and I talked, she insulted me, which may or may not be part of her usual personality. Anyways, it was well played. Lucky for her, I'm feeling _generous_ today. She seems good enough for an ally, but then again, you never, ever know.

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

Pressing the end of the cigarette to my lips, I draw in a shaky breath. Smoking is one of the few pleasures in my life that I still treasure.

Aspen watches me from the corner of the couch, curled up into a tight ball. "That's disgusting," she observes.

I snort. "Coming from the girl who got Reaped, I'm not too offended."

She wrinkles her nose, tugging her jacket over her head. "Just because I was Reaped doesn't mean I'm not tough. What if I was about to volunteer, huh?"

I laugh dryly, inhaling another round of the cigarette. "I'm sure you would have been more than lovely than, as well."

By that time, she looks confused, which I secretly delight in. I love messing with peoples' heads, getting to twist their words against them. It's like a short victory whenever I can.

Basil enters the room, gnawing on his bottom lip and holding a slim carrot in his hand. A health food junkie. I know their type not so well, as my family was one who would have eaten a rotten dog carcass.

"Aspen. Brux." He nods curtly before sitting down on the loveseat to our left. "I'm sure that my brother will be in any moment, so hold tight."

I smile smoothly at him. "You two can talk," I murmur. "You're mentoring Aspen, after all."

Basil replies with a tentative nod as well. "I'd like to include you as well," he says kindly.

"Then do so. I'm right here."

The two share an uncomfortable look before turning their attention back to me. "Are you two allying together, then?" Basil's voice is strained.

"Um-" Aspen begins just as I cut her off rudely.

"_Never_."

"Why are you so quick to judge?" retorts Basil.

I scowl, huffing out a ring of smoke. "No offense to my district partner, who I'm _positive_ is simply _lovely_, but there are more fish in the pond, namely the people known as Careers." I smirk. "I also happen to know that they've already kicked somebody out."

Obsidian enters the room with a concerned look on his face, chewing loudly with his mouth open. "The Careers have knocked somebody out of the ring?"

I nod.

He starts guffawing, rubbing a closed fist into my perfectly done hair. I slide away from him to lie down on the couch, eyebrows drawn together in disgust. He doesn't get to do that me. What is that, even, some weird Panem tradition? Have they affected Obsidian that much already? Gross.

"You might have a chance at getting in, little man." Obsidian grins. "Do you have any weaponry skills?"

I sigh lightly. This bulb's not the brightest. "Of course I do."

"Axes? Hatchets? Machetes?"

"You know, not everybody has to live up to the stereotype of using axes and all that crap. Most people never even work in the lumber yards." I consider the stub of my cigarette for a moment before snuffing it and cramming it inside my pocket. "I didn't."

"I did." Aspen's soft voice breaks through. I glance over at her and she smiles, tucking a short lock of hair behind her ear. "I… I worked at the forest around my neighborhood. Axes are like toys to me now."

I muffle a groan. Way to go and be _contradictory_, Aspen.

Basil points at her, lifting his thin eyebrows. "See? That's what I like to hear."

I scowl, shifting my position. My district partner is nothing but a suck-up, and I can't see how Basil isn't seeing right through her act. She's practically opaque.

"So you think that you both could get into the Careers?" Obsidian asks.

I stifle a snicker, waiting for Aspen's reply. I know that she'd be way too soft to even ask to try and enter their alliance. I'm interested to see how this turns out.

"Um…" her voice is reluctant. "Maybe Brux could ask for the both of us."

My throat tightens. "No offense or anything, but I'd prefer just to look after myself. _One_ victor, after all."

Truth be told, I never was one for responsibility. I could barely look after a wounded squirrel; how could I look after a girl who, truth be told, probably cowers under the light of the refrigerator? The Careers would crush her, eat her alive. There's no freaking way that Basil and Obsidian expect me to take care of her. I don't even like her.

Aspen looks at me with a disappointed stare. "I'll find my own allies, then," she mutters in a strangely tight voice.

"Good on you." Basil smiles, eyes twinkling. _Faker_, I surprise myself by thinking.

She murmurs an excuse to go to bed, and Basil lumbers off towards the bathroom. Soon, it's just Obsidian, who's sipping some bubbly water, and me.

"Uh, yeah, I gotta go to bed, too-" I begin.

"Stay."

I grimace slightly, avoiding his sharp gaze. "Yeah?"

"Just want to ask you something." Obsidian remembers to smile. "As your mentor, I find it hilarious that your last name is virtually 'Red Dragon'."

I smile sappily, glaring into his grinning face. "My parents were hippies," I spit out, lying. "Any other questions?"

Obsidian, chuckling, waves me away.

I stagger off to my room, fuming. I loathe it when people question me. It's always been like a slap to my face whenever that happened. I try to boost my confidence by other things, yet people find a way to chop my self-esteem down.

Because under this cocky, _stupid_ exterior? I'm just broken, nothing more to it.

**Cayley Torelli, District Eight**

Velvet and Velour have long since retreated to their rooms. At least, I think they have. They may still be lurking in the corners, listening to our escort yammer on about the gorgeous fabrics that our district brings in. I wouldn't know.

"And the ruffles on the taffeta number that I wore last year, oh, it was fabulous." Gladius sighs in ecstasy, plucking a hair off of his thin wings.

I catch a glimpse of my littler district partner, Tethys, sneaking around behind him with a small fork in hand. I try to muffle a smile, rather certain that this will end in the flailing of Gladius's arms and many, many shrieks.

As the three prongs of the fork tear into the papery material that form Gladius's suspenders, he screams obnoxiously.

"_Blasted, devil, wretched, demon boy_!" he screeches, thumbs hooked into the tight hoops of his sparkling blue pants. I can't hold back a throaty giggle as he darts out, his oversized trousers drooping at the back.

"Had to get him out somehow," Tethys says coyly, eyes flickering up to me to gauge my reaction.

"That's great!" I can't stop giggling. "The look on his face was priceless."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" he winks, his small mouth curving upwards into a smirk.

"Ahh," I sigh, throwing myself onto a loveseat and sprawling out. "If only we could do that with our other competitors. Simply rip out their suspenders and they'd run away, screaming."

_What a pity we can't do that,_ I think to myself bitterly. _It's rather hilarious how, if a Career were to flash a fork or something at a weaker tribute, they'd tremble in fear, when really, it should be the people here that go under the blade._

"So, how are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" Tethys perches on the arm of a chair, his legs curling up into a tight, comfortable little pretzel knot. "Don't you just _ah-dore_ their _fabulous_ iced teas and soups?"

Finding myself giggling uncontrollably again, I gasp a little for breath and reply. "Um, I think that it's luxurious, I guess."

He looks at me oddly, as if waiting for another answer.

"I miss home, though. District Eight." I feel robotic all of a sudden. It's something that I've grown quite accustomed to in my seventeen years of life- once being completely happy and gung ho, the next moment becoming tense and rigid, and the next being a green-eyed monster filled to the brim with fury. Mood swings are just a part of my daily life. My mother didn't help the fact much, either.

"Ah, yes." His beady brown eyes dart to the window, the pastel colors of the sunset sky mingling with the harsh yellows of the city lights. "District Eight will forever be our home."

"But there's hardly a chance we'll get to go home, right?" My throat betrays me by laughing again, this time nervously.

"Not so. I think that I have an excellent chance at winning." Tethys frowns over at me, eyebrows drawing together. "What makes you think that you're not good enough, Cayley?"

My giggling stops abruptly. "I'm small, for starters." It's true. I'm smaller even than Tethys, and I have little muscle on my brittle bones. "I have no weaponry skills, no plant skills, no nothing." If the arena was a giant clothing factory, though, we'd be set.

"Your body size means nothing." He smirks lightly. "And only six of the other tributes have weaponry skills, Cayley. Maybe the tributes from Seven and Nine. Don't worry, everybody else is in the same boat as you and I."

"I guess you're right." I huddle closer to the cushy pillows of the loveseat, feeling very small under the circumstances. It's just like home here. Even on the train, I had secretly hoped that here I'd get a chance to sort of reinvent myself, but it seems that I really can't escape the past.

"And besides." Tethys purposefully avoids eye contact with me, ducking his head. "I'm sure that you'll find yourself some great, worthy allies."

"You're right." I straighten myself out, flipping a lock of silky brown hair over my shoulder. "Hey, did you have anybody in mind?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "I was considering the two tributes from District Nine, or Five." No reasons given.

"Right," I nod. "Um, I was thinking District Twelve."

Tethys laughs dryly, shaking his head. "I like you, Cayley, so I'll tell you one thing. They're too weak. The boy's obviously brittle, scrawny, and the girl is downright skeletal. Both are probably from the poorer end of town, and-" he stops himself there, looking conflicted as he discreetly shakes his head.

"Oh," I reply, confused.

"But, yes. It's good to have an alliance plan so early on." Tethys gives me a brisk smile before bidding me goodbye and moving swiftly down the hall like the adorable, small guy that he is.

I watch his form retreat down into his bedroom, door shutting quietly, and I instinctively fold my limbs into myself, folding my arms across my chest and tucking my legs neatly underneath me in a kneeling position. Being small is the one good thing I'm good at.

Everything used to revolve around my small, broken family, and myself. The spotlight was constantly on me, as if calculating my next move. It's not that different here, actually. Once I get into that arena, there will be cameras all over me.

I wonder if I'll be a crowd favorite?

A smirk creeps onto my chin. Yeah, like that would ever happen. I was barely tolerated back in Eight, and what should make me think that anything would be different here?

My life is now a play; everything scripted out for me, and if I fail to deliver the line that the Capitol wants, the shepherd's crook will close in around my neck. Not the best comparison, but in somber reality, it's true.

**A/N: The Outsider by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**Lovelies! It's been so long! ._. Hopefully after my long break, I can find more time to write. But y'know, school and all that need to be figured out for me, so I'll write when I can. And all of those waiting on A Shot in the Dark, I can only say that I'm taking my time writing it. :p**

**Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the very first tribute chapter of Contrary! Dropping a review does not go unnoticed ;D And hey, if you review more, chances are your tribute will go farther. Everybody likes that, yes?**

**Okay, below is the alliance list, yeah? Everybody else is a loner, as of now, but that will very probably change. **

**Alliances: Careers minus Soren, Maysa+Maya**

**Question tiiiiime (:**

**1\. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2\. Favorite tributes as of now? (Chartwise?)**

**3\. Who are you curious to hear from?**

**4\. General thoughts on the chapter, along with 'how was my writing'? **

**Until next time ;D**


	5. Creep

**.**

_**I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo.**_

_**What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.**_

**Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three**

The morning awakens me rudely. Rather, it's Griff's youthful voice that pierces the silence, shattering any hopes I had of going back to sleep.

"_NO!"_

Curious, I poke my nose out the door, only to see Candor, Xandra, and Escort-Witch trying to spoon-feed Griff something that looks like oatmeal. Nothing of importance, why would he shriek?

"What's going on out there?" I call out sleepily, muffling a yawn.

"He's not taking any vitamins!" Xandra hollers out in frustration, anger laced in her voice.

"I don't want any of them! It's not like they could help me!" Griff scowls ferociously at the trio, and I can't help but smirk. He's already fighting back against the people that are trying to tend to him; biting the hand that feeds him, so to speak.

"Ellika, can you get out here, please?" Xandra, my mentor, calls. Her tone is surprisingly patient, considering that just a moment ago she was shrieking at me. I consider this.

"Nah!"

"_Please_, Ellika. You should be getting up, anyways."

_Ell_, I silently berate her, as I pull a sweater on and heave myself out of bed.

"Here." Candor hands me a small tablet containing some grainy tan stuff, just like the goop they're trying to force into Griff.

"What is it?" I look at it suspiciously. "Is it literally just some vitamins?"

Candor glances at the others before motioning me to the side. We step out onto the balcony, and I raise an eyebrow. "Why are we out here? And if you could answer my question, that would be _lovely_."

His voice is hushed. "I've examined them, Ellika- I mean, Ell. They're not regular nourishment vitamins. For whatever reason, they are similar in structure and-"

"Could you hurry it up?" I interrupt him. "I'm on a _rather_ tight schedule, I'm afraid. Breakfast and all that."

Patiently nodding, Candor then says, "All right. So you see, these vitamins are… weight gaining medications, containing numerous fattening spices and oils."

"Why are you giving them to us?" I ask, feeling stupid and confused.

"President Snow's orders." Candor shrugs. "Apparently, they're being given to each district, including the three – or four – Career districts. I have a feeling it will clue us in somewhat to the arena, but I've studied the past arenas, and I'm baffled. Nothing makes any sense."

I feel like shouting at him. He's a supposed genius! He doesn't _know_? This could mean life or death for me, a possible arena clue. And here this stupid old man is, scratching his head and _shrugging_?

"Ell, are you alright?" His eyebrows furrow. A slim arm reaches out to touch me. "You seem to be vibrating. Trembling, for a more appropriate word."

I recognize that symptom- it means that I'm slowly getting angrier and angrier, which is never good. Whenever it happened at home, my parents knew to exit the room, leaving me to cool down.

"I can't," I hiss out before storming off the balcony, my vision blurry from the combination of a deeply furrowed brow and angry tears. I make it to the couch before my knees start trembling, and I collapse onto it, pressing a small, furry pillow to my chest and clenching my teeth, shaking all over.

"Ellika, dear, are you-" Ping, the penguin-like escort, waddles into the room munching on a bagel when he cuts himself off. "No, you like to be called Ell, right? Oh-"

"Leave me alone," I snarl, my nails digging into my exposed thighs. "Get _away_ from me!"

His yellow-brown eyes widen and he moves closer, intrigued. "Ell, honey, I'd prefer if we all stayed friends here! Come, come, tell me what's bothering you!"

I shakily take a deep breath, my stomach churning and my throat feeling as if it were lined with acid. "You can't help me," I growl. "Nobody can help me. I- I'm a _monster_, get the hell away from me!"

Ping tuts, shaking his head. Bright, fake red hair flicks everywhere. "Ell, Ell, Ell, you're simply hormonal and moody from the original shock of being Reaped. Trust me, I've escorted for ten years now. Maybe if you talk it out, you'll feel better!"

_I can't,_ I silently shriek, struggling to maintain my sanity and pride. Clutching the small pillow to my chest, I start half-running, half-stumbling to my room. _I got mad when Candor said he didn't know something, Ping! If I can't control my emotions for something as stupid as that, I don't deserve anything! _Nobody_ can help me!_

Slamming the door behind me, feeling numb, I make my way to the cushy bed. Perching on the edge, staring out listlessly at the altered Capitol sunrise, I inhale once again, and then a third time.

"I-I'm Ellika," I murmur quietly, attempting to cool myself off. "I'm Ellika a-and I'm going to be f-f-fine…"

I know I can't have any allies, none. They'll either be too repulsed at my easily angered personality, or they'll run at once when they see what a monster my hot-headed nature can be. And I'm fine with that. I've accepted it.

When Candor asked me to ally with Griff, it was all I could do not to spit in his face. Not to be rude, but the difference between us is staggering, and if he can't realize it, then he's incredibly dumb. I'm smart and logical, which I learned from seventeen years of living in Three.

Brushing a damp lock out of my hair, exhaling once more. They can't see me like this, at my most vulnerable time. I _know_ that anger is the thin outline of my life, and it will eventually be my downfall.

**Braxton Malory, District Nine**

"This food is so good," I moan in delight as I shovel another spoonful of mushy red grapes into my mouth. Everything here is delicious, delightful. I can't see why the others – Maysa, Roland, and Olivander – are all glaring down at the food and at each other. They have no reason to.

"It's fine," mumbles Roland, my mentor.

Trying to contain a small burp as it bubbles up, I sit back in my chair, content. My gaze flits around the table. Maysa's fiddling with the end of her long ponytail, Roland is sullenly staring at his porridge, and Olivander is scowling darkly as he examines his arm.

"I'm just going to go down to the Training Center now, then?" It comes out more as a question than a statement.

"Fine by me," Roland says, nodding.

I smile lightly, trying in vain to brighten up the room, and walk to the elevator. Once I punch a button, the ride down is smooth and gives me plenty of time to take a couple of deep breaths, jogging in place to prepare for the big day ahead of me.

I'm going to try and form an alliance. I'm _positive_ that nobody will turn me down. After all, if I tell them that I'll protect them through thick and thin, who will they be to deny me?

A bright grin comes naturally onto my face as the elevator doors slide open, revealing a room that resembles a gigantic gymnasium, different stations scattered along the walls. In wonder I stare up at a rope course, situated in the middle. A trainer sits in a chair at the bottom, sizing the tributes up, and at the small wooden platform at the top, there's another one.

Ah, the tributes. I look eagerly at my competition, excitement flooding through my veins. There's the flexible girl from Five and her gawky district partner, a tall, burly dude from Eleven with his redheaded partner. A couple of the tributes seem to be my age. The boy from Eight is silently examining everybody, his eyes beady and bright. The girl from Six is hiding behind the tall, light-haired boy from her district. And then there's the boys from Three and Ten, but neither of them are down yet.

Silence seems to reverberate around the room as a slender trainer on a pedestal watches over everybody, the bright yellow words '_Head Trainer'_ on the back of her black jumpsuit. Observing her carefully, I watch as she tilts her head back, a smile gracing her lips whenever a new tribute enters. Her nose is a bit crooked, and her ears are flat. She's _not_ perfect.

When the last pair enters – the sheepishly shrugging duo from Seven – the Head Trainer shifts her position, mouth opening to begin. "Welcome, tributes!" Her voice is muffled, somewhat jumbled. "I expect that you all slept well. You'll need sleep in order to complete these days of training, after all."

No response.

"In this room is the weapon – and person – that will eventually kill you. No getting around it, everybody but one is going to collapse at one point." She clears her throat, obviously aware of how blunt she's being. "Every man must die, after all."

Another stretch of silence. One person coughs.

The woman finishes up her speech shortly, telling us the basic rules of the Training Center and wishing us all an education-packed, robust day.

It's _time_.

Eagerly I approach the first person I see – the boy from Ten, his oval-shaped head shaking his head at something his district partner is saying. He'll be easy to convince. He seems rather submissive.

"Hello," I greet, gaining a quick smile on his part. "I'm Braxton!"

"I'm Cade Bennett, District Ten." The boy speaks with a defined accent, his vowels twanged.

"I know it's too early to ask for allies," I say, trying out a wink and a beam, "but would you like to go around with me? Scope out the different stations?"

"Yes!" His eyes light up. "I'd _love_ to!"

Cade seems really genuine, something I can later use to my advantage. But until now, it's not every man for himself. For now, we have to help each other, discover our unknown strengths.

He starts walking briskly to a knife station, and feeling rather left out and feeling out of the loop, I stride after him. Cade's already testing out a short, curved knife, swishing it through the air with a funny expression on his face.

"That's bad," I find myself saying, taking the knife out of his hands and handing him a new, longer and straighter one. The tip is slightly diagonal. "This one's called a bowie knife. I see it used around my district a lot, usually to chop up grain stalks in bakeries and factories and such."

Cade squints for a moment, like he's not sure whether I'm lying or telling the truth. But then his eyes revert to normal, and a slow smile spreads over his chin. "Does it work? Is it easy to use?"

A rush of pride comes easily to me as I hurry over to Cade, showing him how to hold it and everything, even though the trainer's right there. It feels good to help him. It makes me feel needed.

A couple minutes later, as I'm selecting my own knife for a second round of dummy-sparring, Cade bounds up to me, his face contorted in sheer glee.

"It works, Braxton!" he cheers. "You're right, the bowie knife is the perfect knife!"

Happily I nod, clapping my hands slowly and beaming. "I told you, Cade. It's perfect for your body form and such."

A sly, yet bashful expression brushes over him. "Um, Braxton?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to b-be my ally?" He blushes.

I can't help but hold my clenched fist out for a fist-bump. "Of _course_ I would, Cade. I can't think of a better ally to have."

**Kiera Brennan, District Eleven**

Fiddling with the end of my straggly braid, I glance silently around the room. Everybody's either training or mingling, even Cole, who's currently at the weight-lifting section. Even he's found his place, and I didn't think he could, to be honest.

"Girl?" A gruff voice behind me makes me whirl around. "You, uh, need to find a station?"

"What if I'm not going to?" my own voice sounds nasal, strange. "There's nothing for me to do here."

The trainer, bulky with reddish hair, sighs. "Look, I don't make the rules, but every tribute needs to look busy with something, 'lright?"

I frown slightly, getting up from my hunched position on the floor. "I suppose I could do that," I drawl. "It's not like I'm a ghost or anything. I can do a lot more than moan and haunt places."

Leaving a befuddled trainer in my wake, I glide off to find a station that I know I can be good at- poisons. I dabbled with them back home for a bit, admiring how a simple leaf or berry can bring even the strongest of men to his knees. I'm sure that I can find some more interesting bits of information concerning poison to bring to the table, maybe tell a trainer about it. I can impress somebody.

I arrive at the table, next to the small, meek girl from Six. Immediately recognizing the lethal vine-reed leaf, I reach for the stem.

"Girl, girl, whoa!"

Sighing heavily, I swivel to face the frantic tanned trainer, waving her arms sporadically as she darts towards me from a while away. "What the hell?"

"That's a poisonous plant!" she spits out. "You need to wear a pair of gloves!"

Next to me, the girl from Six squeaks in happiness and presses a button on a screen. I glance over to see that she was stumped over was whether the vine-reed plant was poisonous or not. Sly.

"I know," I reply. "I've seen the plant before."

She stops her frantic breathing to cock her head, eyes wide. "Wh-what do you mean? There's almost no more species of these in the wild!"

I smirk slightly, relishing in the fact over how happy I was when I found my first vine-reed plant, then cultivated it to grow further. "District Eleven simply has a wide variety of plants, you know."

The trainer huffs a moment more. "So you're from Eleven, eh? I think I remember you… red hair, pale skin… you're the girl who screamed at the Reaping!"

I blush slightly. It was a moment of desperation and triumph both, and it annoys me that people remember me for that menial reaction. "You could say that. Or you could say that it was my battle cry, either one."

She smiles slightly. "Have fun mixing poisons, hon. You need any help?"

"I have this completely under control."

The woman moves behind the counter and I get to work, snapping on some rubbery gloves just to humor her as I grab a glass beaker. I splash in a quick dash of water, murmuring my recipe under my breath as I work. All of the materials on this table, I know about. I've used them all.

I'm aware of the two pairs of eyes watching me, the trainer and the small girl, as I grind up the final ingredient- some Glady's Shade roots, their purplish veins bulging with each stab of the wooden grinder. Finally, with a small flourish, I empty the dish into the beaker and watch in fascination as the brownish-yellow concoction bubbles. Delicately placing the glass tube on the table, I listen with pride as the trainer gapes and compliments me.

"Th-that's so advanced!" she gasps. "It took me _months_ to perfect that concoction, and yet you did it in ten minutes!"

A smile drifts across my face. She keeps babbling on, and I nod, a bit overwhelmed by the intense praising. Though it is nice to feel appreciated, something that wasn't exactly a factor in my childhood.

When your parents have to tell your _siblings _to stay away from you, you know you're a monster.

And that's all I'll ever be, really. The misfit that nobody really wants to socialize with, the reject that's always hunched over her work. A… a monster.

It's all I'll ever amount to, anyways.

Suddenly downtrodden and gloomy, I nod as a goodbye and walk away, fingers tracing over the '11' on my shoulder. I don't even deserve to wear this, to be called a tribute. I should die. At least I'll be able to be with the spirits, with the ghosts of the other rejected members of society. _They'll_ be able to sympathize with me.

I try my luck at the spear station, but quickly give up once I realize that it's being ruled by the girl from Two, Adra or whatever her name is. At specialty weapons, most of the other Careers are milling around, each with a different weapon in their hands.

The only unpopulated station seems to be the fire-making one, with a sullen-looking trainer and a load of kindling at his feet, just waiting to be used. Not looking for any human interactions at the moment, I stroll towards him casually, purposefully looking at the ceiling.

He doesn't say anything as I slowly begin building up a pile of thin strands of bark and some sort of fluffy plant, and he doesn't say anything when I rub two stones together to form a small spark. Before I know it, a tiny fire's begun to burn within the wispiest of the kindling.

Triumphant, I sit back on my heels and watch it for a moment. Even this, the small orange flame, reminds me of home, of how many rituals I've done by the dim light of a candle, the tiny flame stretching to the heavens.

Home.

The word makes me sigh. Will I ever see home again? And if I do come back to see home, will I actually be accepted for who I really am?

Or will it be like before, with me being treated as nothing but a monster?

**Ezra Jefferson, District Five**

Maya's chipper face pops up in the corner of my vision as I slowly run my fingers over the handle of the spear. I can't help but crack a grin as she makes a face, sticking her tongue out and pulling her eyelids down unnaturally.

"What's up, Ezra?"

"Nothing," I drawl, giving her a shy smile. "I'm just looking over the spears, you know?"

"Ah, the weapons." She sighs. "C'mon, Ezra, I thought you were better than this. You didn't even look for me, totally against what Kassidy and Scarlett advised, dude!"

I blink for a moment, temporarily dazed. "You have Maysa."

"That doesn't mean I don't want you for an ally." Maya offers me a smile. "You're nice enough, and I'm pretty sure you aren't going to off me in my sleep."

"S-Seriously?" my heart flutters. If Maya wants me as an ally, then I can get much further than if I'm a loner, which is what I had originally expected. And plus, she's right- Scarlett and Kassidy did tell us that if we paired up, we'd be a so-called 'dynamic duo'. Well, with Maysa here, perhaps it's more of a dynamic trio.

"Of course, Ezra."

She offers her arm to me and I take it, positively giddy with excitement. I don't even stop to wonder if she thinks my sudden glee is weird. _I have an ally_. She wanted me first. I'm actually appreciated, not looked down upon!

Maya leads me over to Maysa, the brunette girl examining some brownish shell of a bug. She glances up. "Who's that?"

"My district partner, Ezra!" Maya grins, and I offer Maysa a shy smile.

"You didn't even think to ask me?" says Maysa bitterly, her nose wrinkling up as she looks me over. "I mean, sure, he's probably cool and all, but seriously, Maya? What if I don't want another ally?"

"I don't think it'll be a problem," Maya fights back, her light tone growing more and more serious.

While the bickering happens, my and Maya's arms somehow untwine from each other. Feeling lonely and very unwanted, I seek a spot a couple of tables over, trying to hide the growing lump in my throat as I run my fingers over a metallic green insect. I don't even glance at the notecard that dictates whether it's edible or not. My fingers tremble, and before I know it, the fragile green shell cracks under my tight grip.

Staggering backwards, my pulse quickening, I swivel on my heel. I hear the trainer's voice calling out to me, but I don't stick around to listen to her. I pick up the pace as I stride briskly over to a random station.

Maces.

Trembling, my fingers grasp the rubbery gripper on the handle of a blackish mace. Seizing it with ease, noting how it doesn't falter under my faulty grip, I swing it.

It collides with the tanned torso of a dummy, shattering some wire framework inside of it. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I just stare at the dummy for a moment. I just absorb the damage I've done, how for once I have control of a situation. It was under my hands that the dummy broke.

Shuffling my feet as I move to a new model, I swing my arms, bringing the mace with it, and allow it to smack into the rubber coating of the dummy- though perhaps '_smack'_ is an inadequate word. It rather swung into it, kind of taking the exterior skin with it, and allowing the wire frame inside this one to screech and crack as well.

I stand back and just survey it for a moment, reveling in the fact that I did something as cool as that.

As I continue down the line, allowing the weapon to crash into the tan-colored models, I start thinking. Not light pondering, but one-track mind, hardcore thinking. About my past, mainly. About the bullies that used to rule my life, until they found out that I could snap a nose with finesse. About my mother, and father, and even Torque. I wish we hadn't fallen apart. All I want to do is hug him close and apologize.

Even _Swallow_. Does she even know that she's the reason I flunked math?

A goofy smile drifts across my face and I nearly drop the mace. Crash-landing back to reality, I fumble for the handle.

"_Ezraaaaa! Come here!"_

Maya's screech reaches my ears and I perk my head up, eyes flickering around the room. I locate her in the same spot she was before, next to a visibly simmering Maysa. Obediently I set down my mace and trot over to her, hopeful.

"You're in the alliance, dude!" she grins and lifts her hand up for a slap. My stomach explodes into jillions of happy butterflies, and I reach down and clap our hands together, creating a brisk sound of skin on skin.

I start to reach my hand over to Maysa before realizing she's shooting daggers at me with those steely eyes. Sweat pricks from beneath my arms and on my palms. I shove the hand down into the baggy pocket of my jumpsuit, cheeks burning.

"I'm not happy about this," Maysa hisses. "You're lucky that I need a strong ally."

Shame disappears, rapidly replaced by white-hot anger. I stand up tall, eyeing Maysa up. Knobby elbows, crossed at her chest. A pointed nose, ready to stick into your business. I flex my fingers, considering the outcomes if I were to throw a punch.

"Ezra, come on." Maya rolls her eyes, grabbing at my wrist. "Maysa just needs a bit of time to chill, is all. It's alright, man, you'll grow on her, I'm sure of it!"

As I look back to the irritated Maysa, I can only curse a couple times under my breath and pray that Maya's right, that for once I can be acknowledged as an equal human, not a gross, misunderstood bully.

The lunch bell rings and as Maya tugs me towards the kitchen area, I follow, feeling like a docile dog. All I really want is to be wonderful. Maybe Maya can help me with that…

**Eidra Nevett, District Two**

I grin as Carisa slides onto the bench next to me, shadowed by Juno.

"You got that brownish meat goop?" I giggle. "God, it looked so gross!"

Carisa considers this for a moment before laughing as well, scraping it to the edge of her tray with a fork. "The lady just slopped it on my plate. Didn't have time to pull away."

I raise my eyebrows, teasing her. "You'll definitely need those lightning-quick reflexes in the arena."

"Why, thank you for noticing!" She immediately falls into the playfulness of the conversation, her bright eyes twinkling. "I-"

"Are you lovely ladies done with the chit-chat?" Merritt's sorrowful voice breaks into our conversation, his deep eyes searching mine. "I… I think we should use this lunchtime for planning and such."

I feel Carisa's eyes on me, and my gaze flickers over to her. "Um…" she begins, and I cut in.

"Sorry, Merritt." I wink. "We're discussing much more important matters than strategies."

Inside, I know that's a joke; I mean, what could be more important than the Games? Nothing, _n-o-t-h-i-n-g_. At least that's what I've been told to think. _Whenever I train is the one time I'm serious about something, my mind focused solely on the prize of getting the spear splitting through the plastic exterior of the dummy or inside the bright red ring of the target. _That's what I say, that's what I want the people to think.

But truthfully, to be honest, I'm _not_ the most dedicated person here. I'm not a girl who's done nothing but train for seventeen years of her life. In reality, training was but a hobby for me. And when I found out that it was something I was truly good at, that's when it became more interesting.

Yes, though, life does set in at the most unfortunate times.

I glance up as Merritt begins to rant quietly, glaring at me with those ferocious blackened eyes of his. "You're really being quite stupid, you know," he hisses.

"I don't mind." I smile easily, tossing a lock of my hair over a shoulder. "Who are you to judge, anyways?"

Carisa rushes to my defense. "Yeah, Merritt, you should just back off!"

Wraith and Juno remain silent as Merritt rises to his feet, his scowl becoming more and more pronounced as he growls out, "You two girls are lucky that I kept you in this alliance. Worst comes to worst, you'll be holding knives at each other's throats."

It's so hard not to laugh at him, because honestly, he's hilarious. He thinks he's, like, the leader of the pack? He needs to think again.

"Awh," I croon out, trying to muffle my growing giggles. "Does somebody need a tranquilizer?"

He looks enraged, and Carisa eggs me on. "Or some sleeping pills?" She collapses in laughter.

"Um, I'm not sure that you two should be saying stuff like that to him." Wraith speaks up, his voice hushed. Those brown eyes of his connect with me, genuine worry evident in them.

This is big for Wraith; last night, he barely spoke at all, only opting to pipe up when there were big issues being discussed. Every time he spoke, it was a bloody good piece of advice or an interesting tidbit, nothing extra or unnecessary. If he has to tell me to back off of Merritt, should I listen?

One glance at the grinning Carisa makes me screech with glee, shaking my head.

"I'm sorry that you can't hold your own, Merritt," I tell the enraged boy, shaking my head in mock sorrow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Carisa and I have some more integral things to attend to. Like, whether braids or high ponytails are better!"

I turn away from Merritt, thus giving him a little time to cool down, and immediately start talking. Our food lies on the table, ignored.

"I love high ponies," I confess, jabbing a finger at my hairdo.

Carisa nods, eyes wide. "You know, I used to like braids, but I agree with you there!"

Look at us; the most deadly and important people in the Games, and we're discussing our favorite hair styles. I giggle at the thought as my hands absent-mindedly weave through Carisa's hair.

"Hey, so can I ask something?" An idea pops into my head before I think of anything else.

"Shoot!"

"What was up with you and Soren last night?" I bite my lip, afraid I might have hit a nerve, but out of nowhere I begin talking again. "Are you two, like, close or something?"

Carisa's shoulders, erect with excitement, promptly deflate. "No," she murmurs gloomily. "Like I said, he's just an idiot from my past. Nothing big, nothing to reflect on."

I purse my lips, wrapping my fingers around a thick lock of her chestnut hair. "Actually," I muse, "didn't you say that he had destroyed something dear to you? In your past or something?"

A nervous laugh bubbles out of her mouth. "We'll talk later," she says tensely, "after all the listening ears are gone."

"We can still hear you," Merritt snarls.

"Exactly my point." Carisa cranes her neck to try and look at him.

"Shut up, Merritt," I chirp.

A tanned hand snakes up to my side, outstretched for a high-five. I slap it with as much force as I have, battling the impending beam.

The rest of lunch wasn't too important, simply a bunch of more silly banter between Carisa and I, a few random burps and giggles from Juno, gloomy stares from Wraith, and of course, the pessimistic musings from Merritt. And yet, as everybody gets up in unison to dump their trays, I can't help but feel amazed.

_This is it_, I think to myself, the corners of my lips curving upwards. _This is the dream team, and I'm a leading member in it. This is the life, certainly!_

**Kinton Machek, District Twelve**

I spoon a blob of green gelatin into my mouth, eyes darting around the room as I do so. It appears there's only three alliances so far. Of course, the almighty Careers, already babbling away. The boy from District One sits at a table on his own, looking dejected as he plays with his mashed potatoes. Interesting.

The boys from Nine and Ten sit together, chattering and laughing away. I'm happy for them. They're both kind of small, and definitely younger. They deserve to bond together.

And then there's a group of three- the girl from Nine, Maysa, and the two from Five, Ezra and Maya. While the two girls murmur quietly, Maya with vibrancy and Maysa with a snarky look on her face, Ezra pokes at his beef and glances around the room with a small smile on his mug.

Everybody else is either sitting alone or with their district partner- much like Haven and I. We wouldn't be sitting here by choice – I consider Haven to be pretty sarcastic and all-around mean, actually – but Grey advised us to. She said it shows bonding and loyalty and strength. I don't get it, really- how can a simple sitting position dictate all that?

"This stuff is gross," moans Haven, jabbing her fork at her own gelatin. "It's too gushy and all that crap."

"It's awesome," I say, quick to defend the gushy food. "We never got anything like this back in Twelve."

"Exactly my point," she sighs. "They have all this pretentious junk here, but people are starving to death back in Twelve. We're lucky to lick a couple drops of fish blood off of a fish skeleton."

I shudder. "Not everybody in Twelve was like that," I mutter quietly.

Haven immediately sticks her face in mine, scowling. "You mean that your family was rich?!"

"No, no, no!" I shut her down immediately. "We were better off, though. I mean, we still lived in poverty, in a hut of a house, but we weren't completely starving. Most of the time there was cold sausage and lettuce and stuff like that."

"Yeah, well, some of us aren't as lucky as you," Haven whispers quietly, staring into the jiggling mess on her tray. She's suddenly a lot more muted.

I have a sudden image in my mind that I forgot about all until now- I've seen Haven before the Reaping, just once. It was on my way to the market with my father. We were passing the landfill site, just beyond one of the newest coal mines, and I saw a dirt-splotched, blond-haired girl with deadened eyes. I wasn't able to place her until now, now that she wears that same defeated expression.

Maybe she's not mean at all, just misunderstood.

I offer her a shy smile as I push around my peas in a separate section of the tray. Should I ask her to be allies? I doubt anybody else would want to ally with us. District Twelve doesn't really have much to offer, with a skeletal-looking blond and me, the baby-faced guy who looks like he could struggle if he tries to hold five pounds.

There's really nothing to lose. It's not like, if she rejects me, we'll be stuck with each other anyways. I'm pretty sure that the arena will be large. Every other arena has been, after all.

"Excuse me?" I say, glancing at her. She hums in response, bringing a spoonful of gelatin to her lips. "Would you, um, like to be allies, Haven?"

The spoon wavers in the air as she turns her head to the side. The straggly blonde bun, just below her left ear, jiggles as her shoulders bob up in a shrug. "I really don't care, but I care more about my well-being than the fact that I'm going to need an ally, to be honest. I'm gonna ask Grey."

"We're district partners," I remind her, feeling a bit put-off.

Her nose wrinkles, and she bites back. "So? For all I know, you could be a murderer already, and Grey's seen it all. She'll know what to do."

"I-I promise I'll be loyal!" I sit up straight on the bench, my spine rigid.

"Promises are unpromising." Haven smirks, scratching her shoulder. "Come on, Kinton, put yourself in my shoes for once."

I brush a lock of dark hair out of my eyes. "Haven!" My voice cracks.

The kids from Three glance over with interest, the girl with heavy eyebrows and the boy with a soft smile. I try to ignore them as I prod Haven with the handle of my spoon. "Come on, you know that Grey will approve."

"Why are you so eager to get an answer?" Haven scowls, her mood suddenly dark.

"I-I like knowing my situation," I reply, crossing my arms and feeling childish. "Everybody does. Plus, if we're allies, we can train together and learn each others' strengths."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she says in a low voice, looking at me under a fringe of light hair. "You'll know my strengths, you'll abandon me in the arena, and then, later, you'll come back to bite me in the butt. It happens all the time, Kinton, and I need to know that I can stay rooted!" Her glare doesn't lift.

I slump down on the bench. "Alright," I say softly. "But promise me, Haven, as soon as you ask Grey and she says yes-"

"If she says yes. Don't get your hopes up, idiot."

I clench a fist, but even I know that I could never do any damage with it. "Fine, if she says yes. You promise that you'll ask her? And that you'll go through with it?"

A sigh emerges from her thin lips. "_Fine_. I… I promise."

**Juno Verdet, District Four**

"It's like you're cutting a slice out of air!" chirps Eidra as she swings the rapier forward, thus creating a satisfying slicing sound. "Like, literally! It could be a piece of pie or something!"

"It's so cool," giggles Carisa.

It's kind of saddening to know that they're already best friends, leaving me as the obvious third wheel. Eidra's the peppy, upbeat leader while Carisa's the giggling drone, willing to do whatever she asks. It's odd, definitely. When I first met Carisa, she seemed kind of domineering, detached. Something about Eidra and her must have clicked.

Either that, or they were immediately repulsed by me. There's no definite reason, but I have a slight feeling that my tendencies to go with the flow affected them. They both seem the type to have to take action.

Merritt and Wraith, they're _fine _nothing wrong with them that I can see so far, but both seem kind of sullen to me.

"Have you ever tried a trident, Juno?" Eidra questions. Her brown eyes are sparkling.

I shrug nonchalantly. "They're fine. I love how they have three or more prongs. Easy to hit your target, yeah?"

"If you want, we can go over there."

I nod. "Whatever floats your boat."

The two girls exchange amused glances, but I don't pay them any more attention. I glide out in front of them, red hair flipping just beyond my shoulders as I stride swiftly. Taking the lead, so to speak.

The trainer, a tall man with a black buzz-cut, immediately recognizes me with a grin. I've spent enough time over here; he probably knows everything about me by now. I greet him with a mellow wave and a small quirk of my lips. "Three tridents, please."

He complies obediently. After I place my own trident in my hands, turning it over and quickly admiring the prongs, I glance back at my other allies. Both of them are standing around, looking rather awkward, really. Carisa's trying to hold it like a spear or a lance, and obviously the shaft is too wide for that. Eidra's just clutching it with both hands, gaze flickering over the silver body.

"We're not doing it right, are we?" Carisa asks, raising an eyebrow.

I chuckle a bit, moving over to her and instructing the both of them on the best technique to grasp it. They're both fairly quick learners, and before I know it, we're all standing side by side as we thrust the tridents into the tanned targets.

"This is tough work," pants Carisa. "I don't get how you can…"

"Manage this," Eidra finishes her sentence with a light laugh. "Yeah, this must've taken years to master. You've sure got patience, Juno."

Patience? I've never been called patient. Idle, sure. Offhand, definitely. But never patient.

"Gee, thanks." I don't mean to sound blunt, but that's apparently what Eidra takes it as, with a slightly confused and hurt expression.

We practice in silence for about ten more minutes, with Carisa fumbling with the handle of the trident repeatedly and Eidra more often than not throwing her hands up in exasperation. I'm obviously the only competent one in this trio.

"Let's break for a bit," suggests Carisa.

"I'm down with that," I reply, brushing an imaginary bead of sweat off of my forehead. It wasn't really strenuous, but more to humor the duo.

Eidra and Carisa immediately select a spot just ten feet away from the trident station, sitting knee-to-knee. I sit down across from them, shoving my hands into the baggy pockets that the jumpsuit provides.

"Do you guys want to see my token?" Carisa asks softly, as she does the same. I'm quick to nod, watching with eagle eyes as her hand moves around her pocket gently.

It withdraws, and Eidra and I both lean forward eagerly. The trinket in her hand appears to be a small, sky blue stuffed animal. No, not a stuffed animal. More of a figurine, with a white thread looped around its soft blue tummy.

"Cute," Eidra comments, reaching her hand out so she can touch it.

"What's the significance?" I ask, kind of suspicious. Of all the lovely trinkets to choose from – necklaces, pictures, tubes of lip balm – she chooses a small statuette?

Carisa holds it closely, eyes fixated on it as her fingers run over it. "It was supposed to go on my baby's mobile."

"You have a kid?" Eidra gasps in delight. "What's their name?"

Avoiding her gaze, Carisa purposefully looks down at the ground. I'm pretty sure I notice her eyes misting up in silent tears, which provokes a silent, collective gasp around the group. I've never really been serious with a guy enough to even think about being a mother, but I can only imagine how terrible it must feel to lose a child.

"We hadn't picked out a name yet," Carisa sighs. She gently loops the thread around her index finger. "Do you two have tokens?"

"No point," I say, trying to battle back a small belch. "Anything that reminds me of my past is off-limits, for here, at least. I have memories, that's enough."

"Yeah, that's pretty much my excuse as well." Eidra shrugs, though there's a certain doubt in her eyes that makes me do a double take.

"At least I have my best friend right beside me, right?" Carisa laughs lightly, pulling Eidra to her side, and I have to force myself to look away purposefully. I can't go off, feeling bad for Carisa when it's obvious that she doesn't like me too much. And plus, she's a competitor. A rather strong one.

But I've already discovered a weakness of hers, even if she didn't know when she was giving it away. She has an extremely soft spot for the unborn child of hers. Who knows? Maybe it could be an integral snippet of information to have sometime or another.

I'll just have to be observant, yeah, even though I'm not the best at it.

**Halcyon Chae, District Six**

"Is anybody working here?"

I look up to see the face of the boy from One. Oh, the rejected Career. I shake my head, not bothering to give him any precious conversation.

"I'm Soren."

I nod.

"I-I'm from District One."

I _know_ you are. I frown, looking over my shoulder at the towering boy, giving him another nod.

"You're from District Six, right?"

Clenching my fists in annoyance, I nod, eyes flickering over the screen in a vain attempt to ignore him. I can definitely tell why he was booted out of the Careers. This guy's irritating as hell, plus he's not a looker, either.

"Hel-key-yond, right?"

"Halcyon," I correct him automatically, my voice gruff. I don't need this, I don't need to listen to this annoying guy ramble on about how exotic my name is. His name's crappy, too. _Sore-wren_. "Get it right or leave."

"Sorry, um, Halcyon." Soren nods and moves next to me, our shoulders brushing briefly as he opens a screen of his own. Virtual edible plants, the perfect station to go to if you want knowledge but are too much of a coward to try out the real thing. Yep, this guy fits the bill.

We ignore each other for a couple more minutes as our eyes flicker across the screens, fingers jabbing at the buttons. I complete the last question and my score pops up; a 78%, which is much lower than all of my other scores. I don't _get_ it. I've worked hard, worked half the day at this station, and already I'm losing some knowledge?

"Just perfect," I mumble, slamming my hand down on the screen and staining it a rainbow of technical purplish colors.

"I can't help you there," Soren comments, looking at my score.

I wrinkle my nose, a hand flying to my hip in sudden defense. "I don't think you can. You're probably a failure at weapons and all that crap, too."

Really, I don't mean it. I'm sure he's fairly competent, yadda, yadda, but firstly, he's annoying me. Secondly, he's being cocky and saying that he can help me. I'm not one to beg for help; I'm perfectly independent… I'm pretty sure, at least…

"I'm not." He looks hurt. "Well, I guess you're right. Weapons fall through my hands. I prefer to use my body as a weapon, though. Much easier to take somebody down if you have no supplies, right?"

I nod warily. "Yeah, good for you." I turn back to my screen, poking the '_Start Over'_ button.

"Hey, um, Halcyon?"

I turn to Soren, glaring. "What do you want?"

"I was, uh, wondering something." Soren looks at his screen, fidgeting with his hands. "You're looking for an ally, yes or no?"

"No. I'm an independent man." The lie comes easily to my lips, and, happy with the fib, I lick my pinkie and slick an eyebrow back, feeling sort of… _content_ with myself.

"Oh." That shuts him down immediately, but he seems to get an idea. "Would you be open to having me as an ally? Admit it, Halcyon, nobody else would want me."

"That's the truth," I mumble, not giving him an answer quite yet. Do I even want an ally? It's the truth when I say that I haven't even thought about it. They could just cause me more pain down the road. Look what happened when I grew too attached to Hyeon, I was shattered beyond repair. On the other hand, there's basically no way I could get attached to this annoying guy. Should I…?

"Will you?" His eyes plead with me. "I-I'll repay you as best as I know how, I promise!"

_Do something crazy for once_. The phrase dances around my head as I stare at him, my gaze unwavering. _What could _possibly_ go wrong_?

"Let me sleep on it," I hear myself saying, and Soren's head whips up with great vivaciousness.

"You're positive? You'll think about it?" His voice cracks, and for a moment, he sounds just like a little boy.

"Yeah," I mutter, holding my gaze on the grey concrete floor. "Just leave me alone for the rest of the day. But I keep my promises, I promise that I'll consider it, alright?"

"Alright!" I don't have to look at him to know that he's grinning.

He leaves me without another, leaving just me and my thoughts brewing. I watch him leave for a moment, his towering form plodding along the grey ground.

Would an ally be good to have?

I frown slightly as I jab the screen again. Maybe it could be nice, to have somebody to fall back upon and trust, for somebody to have my back. But this is a rejected Career. What if something's really wrong with him? They didn't push him away for no reason, no doubt. Is he a sadist? He didn't seem like one, not at all. He actually seemed more… meek and clement, than anything. Perhaps he's too kind for their tastes.

But our relationship is teetering in my hands. In this sort of game, I'm the leader. I can choose the outcome of this, I can decide whether to make his day or crush him. And however despicable that I think I am, maybe for once I can be merciful… and have a friend? Perhaps?

I sigh, going back to my screen. This won't lie, it never has.

I sort of zone out as my fingers work over the glassy surface, pressing buttons and overall, boring myself to the maximum extent. But I can't quit. I have to think ahead- Soren must have trained with weapons and such a bit at District One, right? They're practically glued to their diamond-encrusted swords and such, I bet. He probably won't know a duck's-foot-root from a katniss root, and when he fails, I'll be there to identify it.

_Look at me._ I frown. I'm already talking as if we're allies, how stupid.

And yet… I can't help but yearn and wonder, what would happen if I said _yes_?

**A/N: Creep by Radiohead. **

**Ahh, the lovely first day of training. ;) Though I rather don't like these chapters, I guess they're fun to see as the characters develop and all that kind of stuff. First glimpses are important, yada yada yada. **

**Anyways, I don't have too much to say. Oh, I do! :) As we all know, school has fallen upon us. Grrrr. That means fewer updates, I'm not home as much, that whole song and dance. Lovely. But at least I'm here now, right? And at least you can drop a review to keep me motivated? ;D Though I am serious- it doesn't go unnoticed, plus, they motivate me to keep your tribute around for longer. Ah, yes, even a simple '**_loved it omg keep going pls I like so and so'_** is good for me if you're running low on time and just want to let me know you're there- though, of course, I appreciate the long-winded ones ten times as much! xD**

**Alliances: Careers, Maya+Maya+Ezra, Braxton+Cade**

**Alrighty, cap'n, questions :3**

**1\. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2\. Favorite tributes as of now (Chartwise)?**

**3\. Who are you curious to hear from?**

**4\. General thoughts? How was my writing? :)**

'**Till next time ;)**


	6. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

_**.**_

_**My shadow's the only one that walks beside me.**_

_**My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating.**_

**Griff Forden, District Three**

_He can't hurt you. He can't hurt you. He can't hurt you._

Through blurry eyes, I manage to look at the trainer once more. My tummy's stopped quivering, though my hands are shaking like mad.

"Are you ready to try again, kid?" he sighs. "It's just a minor scrape."

"Minor scrape?" I repeat, my voice wavering. My eyes locked on his, I hold out my hand in pain. The slice mark, from the base of my thumb extending to my wrist, is still open like an envelope. Crimson blood beads at the wound. "This is no minor scrape, it's- it's-"

I falter for a moment, noticing two boys staring at me and smiling, too. One has an oval-shaped head, and the other has this pale face that seems so happy. And they're both watching me.

I straighten my spine, feeling the need to be tough. "Um, if I get a bandage, I think I could be fine," I whisper.

A smile spreads across his face like jam or butter on toast. "There's a tough guy," he comments, reaching into a small black box that lies on a table. As he applies some cream to my wound, which feels weird but doesn't hurt, he mutters something to me. "I like you, kid, so I'll give you a nugget of advice. Ally with those two, they'll be the kids to save your sorry bottom."

I look at him in fascination. Bottom of what, a boat? And how can the bottom of a boat be sorry? This guy's not the brightest, clearly.

He pats on a bandage and winks at me, ushering with a dismissive flap of his hand. I glance back over at the two boys, my stomach tightening. But before I have a chance to do anything…

"Hi, I'm Braxton, and this is Cade. Would you like to be our ally?"

I look up in amazement at the rather tall dark-haired boy and his beaming sidekick. "You're like a superhero!" I mutter, gaze darting between the two. Honestly, slap on a couple of capes and they'd be like Wonderman and Superwoman!

"I- I am?" Braxton looks confused, but it's something I've grown used to. My mom used to tell me that other peoples' brains processed words differently than mine did, so I've sort of learned just to smile and nod dumbly whenever it happens. Because, contrary to what others think, I'm quite bright, just not the best with my language. And, my mother said, my mind is kind of scatter-brained, whatever that means. Whenever she said it, I thought of a brain exploding, but I don't think that's what she meant.

"Superheroes," I repeat. "Did you not just hear me?"

"We're _superheroes_, Braxton," Cade raises his eyebrows, his tone filled with mirth. "We're here to save him."

"Ah," Braxton nods, closing his eyes briefly. "I get it, I think."

"Anyways, an answer would be nice?" Cade turns to me.

What was the question- oh, they wanted to be allies, I think.

"Um, okay," I shrug, idly scratching my jaw. "What do allies do, exactly?"

"Didn't your mentor go over it with you, Griff?" Braxton frowns slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The skin between them wrinkles, like an elderly man.

"You look old," I murmur, trying hard to contain a chuckle.

Instead of looking offended, like I'd sort of expected he'd react, he straightens the collar of his training suit and smiles. "I'm fifteen, thank you very much. It must be an honor to you, a twelve year old or whatever, that I'd want to be your ally, right?" He winks.

"Yeah, dude, I'm fourteen?" I giggle.

"You're older than me?" Cade seems really surprised. He glances over at Braxton. "Dude, he's… he's fourteen!"

"Oh, we both thought you were _twelve_!" Braxton chuckles, shaking his head and beaming.

"You've said that," I say awkwardly, lacing my fingers in each other. "Let's see here, I've been on this planet for ten years, plus two, plus, um, two, so that equals fourteen. Right?"

Cade raises an eyebrow, like he's confused, but Braxton simply shakes his head once more, his bright grin never fading. "It's fine, man. We'll take your word for it."

I start to say something, but don't. Why should I burden him further, anyways?

"So what's first on our agenda?" Cade asks, his voice light and vowels stretched.

"Survival," Braxton says immediately, claiming his role as leader of our pack. Not that I mind, I've always been kind of submissive when it comes to leadership but loud and bodacious in many, many other ways. Personality, for example.

"I'm cool with that," I chirp. "I don't want to be around silvery knives and-" I stop briefly, glancing over to a knife station. One glimmering one shaped like a rectangle catches my eye. It looks familiar, like… like a butcher's knife! "-oh, have you guys ever been to a butcher's shop? They're so ugly, those red hunks of meat draped around like prizes!" I shudder.

"What?" Both of the boys looks confused.

My brow crinkles up in confusion. "A butcher shop, haven't you two ever been to one?" Butcher shop, it sort of sounds like 'boot sure'. I giggle lightly as Cade scratches his head.

"I guess," Cade replies, still dumbfounded. "But I don't see how we got to this point in our conversation."

"It's fine, Cade," Braxton whispers to him, as if that'll cover up his words. He turns back to me, a winsome smile on his lips, and asks, "So, Griff Forden, shall we mosey on over to the edible plant station?"

I nod, beaming. "We shall!"

With my new alliance, we'll be able to do _anything_!

**Tethys Acosta, District Eight**

Sliding my hands along the cool surface of the spear, I gauge its heaviness in my hands as I peek out from under my lashes at the girl from Ten. She's right next to me, biting her lip and clenching her fists as she tries out good ways to hold the thing.

She'd be a good ally- I mean, if she wanted an ally. I'm sure I could find out.

The reason I want her, though, is the fact that she's so concealed and masked, barely showing her emotions. Half the time whenever I see her, her poker face is completely blank, devoid of any human emotions. She's almost like a robot. A _cool_ robot, though. Don't get me wrong. But aside from that, she's completely average, not overly pretty or ugly and a good medium height. It's appealing, I admit.

I peer at her again discreetly as her arm extends forward, jetting the spear about eight or nine feet in front of her before it clatters loudly along the floor. In frustration, she steps back, brown hair swinging, but her large eyes move elsewhere. They glance over to me.

Time to make a move.

I slide over to her, a winning smirk plastered firmly onto my face. "Hello," I greet her. "My name is Tethys, and you are?"

She looks down her nose at me for a second. Almost as if she's… considering something. "My name is Shael," she replies in a voice that is perfect average- very feminine with a hint of gruffness and stretched vowels. Yep, that's District Ten for you.

I offer up a smile, a real one this time. "I noticed you're training alone."

"Um, yeah." She jabs a thumb to the spear, a hint of annoyance evident in her tone. "Do you really think anybody would want to ally with me when I throw like that?" She shakes her head. "I suck at weapons."

"Hey, hey, now." I shake my head, holding up a hand. "You don't suck at weapons, trust me on this. Half the people here have never held, say, a knife in their lives." I discreetly point to the girl from Seven, whose plump, pale fingers are turning over a small knife in discomfort. "See?"

Shael scoffs slightly, her nose wrinkled. "Cute, kid," she mutters, "but I have to go off and practice. I don't need some twelve year old hanging all over me."

Interesting how she comes off as rude; could this be a mask, like I predicted? I'll have to get her to open up to me some more.

I sidle up near her, pretending to observe the spears as she does. "You're from District Ten, right?" I play dumb.

"Yeah."

"Have I got the weapon for you." I smirk, grabbing her hand – despite handling all these weapons, it's cold to the touch – and practically drag her over to the dagger station. "It's simple and easy to handle, yet effective."

I know she'll love the daggers, and will probably be good at them as well. Sure, it's another threat on my back, but she'll trust me after this. I have a feeling that her personality's not the strongest, unless her masked personality is a cover for a bodacious, vivacious persona.

Shael's upper lip curls as she runs her hand over a dagger. "What is this?" she hisses.

"It's a dagger." I smile.

Her amber eyes flicker over to me in confusion as she turns it over and over. "Um, how do you use it?"

I guide her over to a trainer and watch in slight triumph as he teaches her how to maneuver. She'd be a good ally, for sure.

But I have to watch my mouth and what I say. Nobody is to be trusted here. Last night I nearly ran my mouth off with Cayley, telling her all about the kids from Twelve, from what I'd observed. She must've gotten suspicious, because the look I got from her was more than curious. It was somewhat _accusatory_.

Shael briefly finishes up the lesson with a small grin toying with her thin pink lips. Once her gaze falls upon me, though, her brown eyes harden a bit, and her mouth is set in a straight line. I offer her a smile, but it probably looks more like a smirk.

"Well, how did it go?" I say.

She straightens her spine, lips pressing together. "Fine."

"I saw you, you know. You don't have to be so defensive."

An exhale. And then, "I suppose you're right. What's your name again, Tethys?"

"You're not wrong!" I take her arm, which she flinches just a bit to. "Come on, Shael. Don't you want to, uh, open your heart out to somebody… somebody like me?" I waggle my eyebrows devilishly.

Shael smiles uneasily, before blurting out a lame excuse. "I… I have to go train, Tethys."

"That is why we're here, isn't it?" I say. "Come on, Shael. An alliance wouldn't be too bad, would it?"

I can almost see the cogs in her twisted, complex mind turning as she stares uneasily at me. "I guess you're right," she says, voice blunt and blatant. "You're not going to stab me in the back or anything, right?"

Shael says it like a joke, but there's a grain of truth in it. I scoff, shaking my head like the notion would never cross my mind. "We're allies, now, Shael. That idea is so not my kind of game." I look her right in her amber-flecked brown eyes, long black lashes framing them. She's barely taller than me, which is saying something, since I'm pretty tall. "Obviously."

Together, arm in arm, we stride across the floor of the training arena. I spot Cayley talking it up with the girl from Twelve, just like I advised. Her smile is frozen, obviously uncomfortable. A quick peek at the blond tells me she's feeling the same way. They're not having too much success.

But who am I to care, really? All my life I've focused on my own survival, and where would I be if I gave my heart out to every other person in the room?

**Maysa Barric, District Nine**

"_Tributes, you have five minutes left of training."_

"Five minutes, Maysa, time to show us what you can do!"

I grit my teeth, clutching the handle of the scythe. Maya's bubbly, annoying, but the only reason I'm keeping her around is that I feel like she won't toss one of her precious knives in my back. Ezra's useless baggage, a tall boy with endless eyes who clings to her shadow. He claims he's good at maces. I've yet to see that happen.

Maya shouts out another encouraging cheer and I scowl at her. A friendly grin is all I get in response. God, she just grinds on and on, doesn't she?

The dummy's right there. I eye it up, not focusing on the hazy image of the trainer in the background but rather the tanned body, nicked already with scratches from blades.

Letting loose a battle cry, I surge forward.

My scythe sinks into the fake flesh of the mannequin before I know what's happening. Adrenaline courses through me. I slash out again, again, blinded by the blood pounding behind my eyes. A flurry of reddish plastic shards erupts as I strike a fatal vein.

_Pound, pound, pound, again, again, again. _

_For Zeta._

"Maysa!" Maya's lilting voice cuts through my attack. "I think he's had enough, Mays!"

Mays. Even her small nickname for me is irritating. I turn to her, plaster on a sickly sweet smile, and reply, "Yeah?"

"I said, the dummy's had enough. You beat it down." Her eyes sparkle.

I nod, allowing a lock of dark hair to slip out of my high hair bun. "And you're saying that I should stop training?"

She holds up her hands in defense. Ezra instinctively backs away. "Dude, chill. I'm just telling you to, you know, maybe move onto a new one?"

I sigh, nodding numbly. It's been like this ever since Zeta passed. I've been touchy, more alert to insults and the such. Six years of being like this and I still haven't adapted to this type of personality. I feel so trapped all of the time.

The trainer brings out another dummy, and I'm about to unleash another mini fury-attack on it when the monotone voice announces that it's time to head back up to our designated floors.

"Ah, a good training day." Maya nods briskly, looping her arm around Ezra's shoulders and loping off to the elevators. After a moment of watching the two, I follow, my steps shuffled.

I slide into an elevator separate from them, this one empty except for Haven from Twelve and the redhead from Three. They both offer me malicious looks as I get on, scowls prominent and their frowns deep. _Is that what I look like?_ I wonder. _A person whose eyebrows are her most striking feature simply because they're glaring constantly? _

I step onto my floor, coming face to face with Olivander. I'm about to ask him why he chose to stand right in front of the elevator when he spits out question after question, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

He's definitely downed a bunch of caffeine and who knows what else. I weave past him to the sofas and chairs in front of the fireplace, cozying myself up to a pillow.

Roland arrives, munching on some carrot sticks and celery. He glances over at Olivander, and then at me. I try not to scowl at him, but it's become habit after so many years. Maybe I can try to break the habit, though, to try and become more pleasant. I'm sure Maya would-

No.

Am I just doing this for her, for Maya? If I win, Maya will have to lie cold, lifeless, sallow on the ground. As will Ezra, and the Careers, and every other single person. The odds aren't exactly stacked against me. There's a load of littler kids running around. But will I even be willing to kill?

Braxton arrives, bidding goodbye to his friend from Ten and sighing with content once he plops down on a loveseat.

"You're happy," I comment sourly.

"No, you can call me Braxton." The little devil winks and plucks a celery stick out of Roland's hands, who stands there still. "How was your day, Maysa? I saw you a couple of stations, even said hi. You got some allies, apparently?"

"Y-Y-You got allies, M-Maysa?" Olivander hums, his movements jittery and sporadic. "That's g-g-good for the a-arena, you know. P-Plenty more chances, y-y-you know."

"What's wrong with you?" Braxton asks in curiosity. Olivander gives him a withering look.

"He drank nine cups of coffee today, don't mind him." Roland rolls his eyes. "I think he was so nervous that we actually have a shot this year, he doesn't want to screw up."

"Sh-Shut up, Roland," hisses Olivander, the man folding his arms across his chest. "Y-Y-You're anxious too, a-admit it."

The curly-haired man sighs and plunks down on an ottoman, facing us. "Truth is, I am scared for you two," he says gruffly. "You'll have to endure some tough tributes this year. The Careers are already looking fierce, you know."

"Especially the girls," Braxton moans slightly, mashing his face into a pillow. His voice is muffled. "The girl from One looks like she's ready to murder somebody right at that very moment, the Two girl is constantly on her feet and handling a weapon, and Four is always gliding around. It's like she and her tridents are one."

"That's so poetic," I cringe slightly at Braxton's choices of words. "You know, I think I'm done with talking and being social for today, so I'm just gonna mosey over to my room?"

I arrive in my room and immediately throw myself onto the bed, my stomach tense and my mind spinning. It's going to be so hard to try and win, especially since even my mentor is frightened for me.

What will I have to _do_ to win? What nightmares will I have to endure, nightmares that are worse than memories of Zeta?

**Wraith Elvery, District Two**

Hestia smiles warmly at me, gliding across the kitchen to pluck some tea bags out of the cupboard. "So, Wraith. Give me a play by play of your day."

I reach for a mug, the scalding water allowing steam to drift gently above it. I waft my hand over it for a moment, trying to cool it. "Well, in the morning, after the pancakes and fruit, we went down in the elevator. It seems like Eidra's already buddy-buddy with Carisa."

"That doesn't tend to happen much." Hestia wrinkles her nose, shutting the door quietly. "Are they genuine?"

"Who knows?" I sigh, blowing on the water. "All I really remember is that Merritt kept looking over at everybody, keeping tabs and stuff, and Juno obviously was the third wheel in terms of the girls."

"You all trained separately, then? With the exception of Eidra and Carisa?"

"No, Merritt and I sometimes trained together. Juno was by his side a bit of the time, but she basically tumbled from station to station. She didn't even have a schedule, really, just kind of breezed from the fire making to the maces to the poisons."

"Smart of her." Hestia examines a tea bag label before ripping it open and offering one to me. "So, Wraith, I want to know what _you_ in particular achieved today."

A smile comes to my face. "I trained with a kopis, if that's what you're asking."

"How'd that work out for you?" She uses a spoon to stir her tea.

"It was fine. I learned some new techniques by observation and stuff. Oh, and I ran around on the running track as well, to stay fit."

"That's great, Wraith." Hestia smiles. "Any other things you picked up?"

I hesitate for a moment. The trainers all applauded and cheered and such whenever I landed a particularly tricky move, but I thought that I could have done better. I bite my lip and shake my head, staring into the seeping yellow and orange tea bag.

"Ah, well. You always have tomorrow, right?" Hestia shrugs, collecting her mug and moving off of the table, striding to the doorway that leads to the living room. She glances back, brown eyes searching. "Are you coming to chat with Helios and Eidra with me?"

"No, I'll be fine here, alone."

Hands wrapped around the warm ceramic of the mug, I sigh. Today was a day that I was supposed to shine. In my opinion, I did a four out of five, a nine out of ten. Room for improvement.

It's always been like that in my life, really. The trainers at the local gymnasiums were empathetic and passionate about what they were doing, and a couple were really invested in me and my ways of doing things. One, Hestia, even stepped out of her way to offer me advice, from a strong woman to a strong man. If I didn't wind up volunteering, becoming a trainer and helping other children would be something I should have considered.

But for me, it was all about the volunteering. While other kids, like Eidra in particular, thought of training as a fun sort of hobby – I know that she thinks like that because I noticed how she often skipped training lessons and rarely took them seriously – I was completely focused. My mind was always empty, except for the one spot of intelligence that proved I had enough brains to come here and volunteer.

It's not proving to come along exactly how I had imagined it, but I should think that with a bit more practice, it will come along nicely.

I sip down on the tangy tea and swish it around my mouth for a moment, savoring the lemony flavor. Muted voices can be heard in the living room, including Madre's wicked tone. I slide off of a chair and silently join the group.

"Wraith, you came to join us," Hestia says, smiling warmly. Her eyes are filled with kindness. Helios merely offers me a nod of his head, while Eidra barely looks my way.

"As I was saying – or shall I start from the beginning?" Madre sighs, her amber eyes flickering over to me. "Wraith, you want to hear about some of the other tributes?"

I bob my head, plopping down on an armchair and resting my mug of tea on an arm.

"Well, District One obviously looks like a threat to me, personally." Madre's high-pitched, screechy voice cuts through the air like a butter knife through bread. "Not so much the boy, as the girl. It's that look that she gives everyone, head bowed and looking out from under those eyelashes. Appealing, alluring, _lethal_."

A smile plays on my lips and I speak up. "The boy is just as much as a threat, Madre. You can never count anybody out."

Eidra nods, but her face is relatively blank. "Wraith is right. You can't. Annie Cresta, remember? Jamie Hill? Even Gingham Cleaver? They all hid in the shadows and when the time was right, they sprung, attacked, won. Anybody could do that."

Hestia chuckles, slapping Eidra lightly on her forearm. "Honey, I think you're stealing my job. Not that I mind, of course."

I raise an eyebrow. _Hm_. I thought Hestia _liked_ working with me.

"Sorry, Hestia." Eidra murmurs her apology, scratching her head. "I'm just trying to offer some advice here and there, is all."

"Oh, Wraith and I were curious, by the way." My mentor offers Eidra an agreeable grin. "What's going on between you and Carisa?"

Eidra maintains a wonderful poker face. I tilt my head slightly. Interesting.

"You know, we've been training together, and… um…" A beam breaks free on her pink lips and her eyes gleam. "Well, she's really nice. A great friend, really, and I know, I know, we're not supposed to have friends, but seriously, I don't think she's a backstabbing sort at all, and, um, we keep each other in check, along with Juno, and it's just great, really!"

I can't help but laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Because if Eidra thinks an attachment will get her somewhere, I'm afraid that she's dead wrong.

**Cole Tenacity, District Eleven**

"_Never_ underestimate _anybody_."

Hudson's booming voice rings out throughout the balcony space, and I admit, it gives me a sort of chill. He's so persuasive and suave, and I know that he's already convinced Kiera just to go at it alone. Me, on the other hand, he's told to watch out for potential allies to manipulate. In his eyes, I'm a ladykiller, I guess.

"This is insane, these talks that you do, Hudson." Kiera's voice comes through as eerie and almost monotone. "So… reaching."

I nod my assent, making sure that Hudson sees.

"I'd like to fill you all in with more of my knowledge, but I think it's time for supper." He sighs, making it known that he really wants us to be filled with his intellect. Kind of arrogant, if you ask me. But who am I to say, really?

We stride off the balcony, me bringing up the rear. Our escort, Prius, plucks at a cushion, long brown eyelashes fluttering as he mutters about the hideous color choices. Hudson walks with a slight limp in his walk, a result of his surgically replaced foot. Kiera lurks along, the shadows under her eyes and ghostly pale skin making her seem odd.

That's all we are. Oddballs. Freaks.

The hulking kid who won't say a word, and the spiritual-looking girl with a tendency to shriek when she's upset.

I take a random seat at the table across from Hudson and smile in delight. There's a great – no, that would be an inappropriate word. There's a splendid, to-die-for smorgasbord of different savory foods.

"Dig in!" encourages Prius as he spoons himself a bowl of cream-colored soup.

Unsure of where to start, I focus on the dish in front of me. A honey-colored hunk of meat drizzled in a cream sauce, with a silver fork to the side. I stab a slab of the beefy substance and allow it to slide onto my plate.

"Brave boy." Prius nods. "Didn't have enough courage to try that stuff myself."

I eye up the meat warily before deciding he was just being a condescending fool. I grab a ceramic bowl containing some sort of fluffy pudding and start spooning some onto my plate.

It's a delicious meal. Kiera can't stop exclaiming over some fruity salad, and I'm in love with the pudding. It's so light, yet so fulfilling, and it tastes exactly like the marshmallows that were so many coins just for one, back in Eleven. Back when our family was so poor we could barely afford lettuce to gnaw on, and the pretentious children walked by like they owned the place.

Day after day, it was girls and their curls and their pretty colorful lollipops. The boys strolled by with their six inch rockets, pretending that they did a lot more than eject. You could tell that everybody thought they were better than us, the Tenacity family.

I sigh at the painful memory, swishing my spoon in my pudding and dragging it across the plate. It creates a sort of screeching noise, and Kiera shrieks, hands clapping over her ears.

"Don't do that!" she shouts. "It doesn't even sound musical!"

I stop immediately, eyes wide as I stare over at her. She's a different one, definitely, but what I don't understand is why she feels the need to screech. She could have at least told me to stop. I would have obeyed her.

"Are you alright?" Hudson asks her, his gaze set.

She shakes her head slightly, looking very frazzled. "That n-noise that Cole made… it was…. It was so loud and…"

"I'm sorry." I'm quick to apologize, wanting to go over and give her a hug or something.

"It's fine, Cole. You didn't know." Our mentor turns back to Kiera, muttering some soothing words to her.

I wander into the living room, stuffed to the brim with fancy foods and sugary drinks, and promptly collapse onto a couch. I stare at the high ceiling, and for once, my stomach is full.

It's a good feeling.

Prius comes in after me, his smile soft and affable. "Did you make any allies today?"

"No."

"Did you see anybody who might be a good ally for you, then?"

"No."

"Did you interact with _anybody_, Cole?" His voice is strained.

"Once."

"With whom?"

"A trainer."

Prius slaps his knee, glaring at me. "What the hell did you do all day, then, if you didn't talk to a single useful person?"

I stare at him, gaze unwavering. "Trainers help me train. I can win with training, you know."

"Allies could be helpful as well, could they not?" He narrows his blue eyes.

"Sure." I close my eyes somnolently. That food really left me feeling drowsy.

"And in the arena, they could be the ones to save your sorry bottom. Yes, they are the way to go, Cole, and you'll die if you don't have any, plain and simple." Prius seems happy with that last comment, and he leans back in his chair, folding his flabby arms across his chest.

I open my eyes just to roll them. _Sure_, I mouth_, and they'll love me so much that they won't once consider backstabbing me._

Listening to the faint murmurs of Hudson and Kiera in the kitchen, I let loose a sigh as I allow my mind to wander. Would an ally really be beneficial? Or would it just cause me more pain?

I'm never one to give up on anything, so if I find it in my will to get an ally… then so be it.

**Aspen Northwood, District Seven**

A slight smile wanders onto my face as Brux enters, shadowed by Obsidian and Basil. "I'm enjoying these routine nightly talks," I joke as they all plop down.

Brux makes a face. "Very funny. I'm just here because Obsidian wants me to talk about my day."

My cheeks flush with blood. I accomplished little today, though whether it was because I was too frightened of the older, more esteemed kids or the fact that I stayed close to Brux's shadow, I don't know.

"Let's start with you, Aspen." _No_. "How was your day today? Find any allies?"

I fiddle with a short, thin lock of hair. "Um…" I stall for time, glancing around to anywhere but Basil's face, soon to be disappointed. "I… I practiced with hatchets and axes and machetes and stuff. Weapons."

"Yeah, so did every other kid within the room," Brux remarks bitterly. "He means personal progress, which I happened to excel at."

I wrinkle my nose at his sourness. "Why don't you tell them, then, if you're so confident that you did fine?" I snap.

He straightens his spine, sending me a vicious scowl. "Gladly," he spits out. Averting his gaze to Basil and Obsidian, he continues, "I learned a bunch of new techniques and even got in good with the guy from Four, who just happens to be the leader of the Career pack. So, yeah, I'd call that personal progress, Aspen."

I cross my arms. "You got into the Careers, then?"

His dramatic, emphasized glower falters a moment. "I never said that," Brux responds. "But Merritt and me aren't just acquaintances anymore. We taught each other the tricks and trades of our favorite weapons."

"Perfect," Obsidian says, a chuckle bubbling up in his throat. "So, Brux, you taught some random guy who could potentially deny your access into that alliance, you taught him techniques for your weapon?"

I smirk. Brux has just toppled off his high horse.

But just as soon as I make that assumption, he slimily slithers back on his high horse.

"He taught me how to use a pike," Brux says.

I watch in mild horror as Obsidian and Basil nod, content with this answer.

"Y-You two," I splutter, trying to maintain a shred of dignity, "Basil! Obsidian! He legitimately just said that he gave his tricks away! Now the guy from Four, Merritt or whatever, could go and tell his allies all about Brux!"

The three men seem to deflate, and I continue. "Furthermore, Brux, I don't know why you're so invested in that alliance." I try a scowl, though it feels more like a pout. "Chances are, it will self-destruct. Wouldn't you like to try and get an alliance of your own? To make friends that will-"

"See, that's where you go wrong, Aspen." Brux's strange turquoise-grey eyes ensnare me in their gaze. "One thing? You don't make friends in the arena. For you to get out, everyone will die. If you win, you'll watch me get hacked at with a mace!"

Brux is standing now, eyes bloodshot and wide, and his voice is constantly escalating to the point where it's a scream.

"You don't _get it,_ do you?" he screeches, fingers curling up into fists. "Aspen, you're not even here to win, you're here to frigging _make friends!_ I'm here to win, Aspen! I'm here to shoot people, to murder, to get the hell out of here!"

Obsidian places a hand on Brux's heaving chest, guiding him back to the couch. I shrink in my chair, feeling even smaller than the five foot two I stand at. Since when did wanting a friend become a bad thing?

And more importantly, why are we all _screaming_ at each other?

"That was uncalled for." Basil speaks first, glaring at us.

"No, no, man!" Obsidian stands up, grinning goofily at his more responsible brother. "Let them yell, let them scream at each other. Let them all get it out before the arena, so they don't go completely psycho."

It takes everybody a while to realize that Obsidian is kidding, and from there, it's a bunch of good-natured groans and shoves.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm serious, though, contrary to my brother." Basil wags a finger at Brux and me sternly. "I'd like to see you two get along, you hear?"

"I will. I'm sorry." I hang my head, another blush creeping onto my cheeks.

Brux looks over at me for a second. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

"I'm in, too." He sighs.

I look at Brux for a moment, my frown wavering. "I didn't mean to get so wound up. I guess I'm just overtired."

"Yeah, that's my excuse, too." He leeches off of my comment like the backboneless, dependent creature he is and my hands curl up into fists.

I sit numbly in the chair, not quite sure of what to do or say next. Surprising, since usually I'm that affable person who sparks a conversation. "Um," I begin, trying to keep the mood light- lighter than it was previously, anyways. "I think I'm just going to head to my room, alright?"

"See if I care." Brux shoots me a venomous, inimical scowl. I watch him for a while, staggering backwards, before I slip into the dark hallway and into my room.

I sit gingerly on the edge of the bed, eyes blurred with tears and fingers fiddling with the ring, my token. I can't do this. I'm not as strong as they all think.

Jamie and Willow, they're placing too much trust in me to come home. And… and I just can't. I won't. Chances are, I'll be going up against one of the bigger, more trained tributes, and… and they'll hear my cannon's blast ricochet off of the edges of the arena until it fades.

And that's what I will be, to Panem at least. Just another fallen cannon boom.

**Carisa Lenette, District One**

"I can't _do_ this anymore, Soren."

His wide, haunted eyes stare at me, mouth parted in slight shock and confusion. I stand, glaring at him and crossing my arms. "I don't know why, Cary…"

"Really!" I snort. "You need a reason on why I loathe you?"

Soren's eyes are brimming with tears like the weak coward he is. "Cary, I never meant to… We were best friends!"

I flip my hair, offering a huffy sigh. "Soren, the past is in the past. Face it. I'm never going to forgive you, so why try?" I push past a mousy Avox to the drawers containing silverware. My arm shoots down and my hand fishes around for a utensil. It produces a knife, and I thrust it at Soren.

The scum looks surprised.

"Go on, do it now," I hiss, narrowing my eyes. "It's not like anybody will miss you, anyways, Soren. Nobody ever liked you. I don't blame them."

He gasps slightly, shrinking away from the knife. "I am so, I'm liked," he argues, voice strained and weak. "H-Halcyon Chae from District Six is my ally."

I wrinkle my nose. "The lost looking blond kid? He won't last past the bloodbath, you idiot. God, if you're actually going to go through with your plans to enter the arena, at least pick a decent kid who's not infested with lice and dumb as a fork!"

"He's smart, and he doesn't have-"

"You know what? I really don't care." I start striding to my bedroom, and I shove him to the side, my guts churning in disgust. But the boy follows me like a lost puppy.

I can only stare at him with a mixture of pure hatred and rage. Firstly, he has no business in coming here. This is my spotlight, my chance to shine. And he steals it away! He killed somebody precious to me, and he _knows_ it. He _knows_ how upset I was at the loss. And yet he fools himself by pretending to be oblivious and naïve to it all, when really he's the freaking mastermind that broke me.

Congratulations to _him_.

"Stop following me," I say, my voice wavering in sudden emotions. My eyes sting with salty tears and I blink them away, opting to glower at him instead. "You don't deserve to even look at me, Soren, just stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!"

Soren puffs his chest out in an unexpected change of attitude. "Cary, I did nothing wrong to you-" he begins, but I cut him off.

"You did _nothing wrong?_" I gasp. With trembling fingers I shove my hand into my pocket and withdraw the crumpled little bird figurine, looping the string on two fingers and swinging it in front of him like a pendulum. "Do you even recognize this bird? I know you do, you're the one who picked it out!"

His puffed chest is prompt to deflate, and he gazes at me with those hollow eyes once more. "I never meant to hurt her-"

"You charged into my house and pushed me down stairs." My words are blunt, razor-sharp. "You killed her. You know it."

Goosebumps creep across my skin. The reality of it all. I wanted her so much, and Soren cut her out of my life, just like that. He killed her. He killed her. He _killed_ her…

She is gone.

My blood pounds in my ears, and it's all I can do to not slam him into a wall as I exit the room, trembling with rage. I may be livid, but I can control myself, unlike Soren.

And then there's Sheen, her pale face with ruddy cheeks sticking her nose into my business. She wobbles unsteadily, her eyes shifting. "Everything alright?" Her usually loud voice is softer.

"Yeah," I snap, whipping my head to the side. I see Teal, his buglike eyes wide. "Everything is fine and dandy and sugar candy, _thanks_ for asking."

Instead of insulting me back, like I'd expected, her eyes cross and she giggles for a long moment, laughter pealing easily from her puffy lips. "Always my job to help my tribute, you know," she says in Teal's general direction.

Glancing at her in disgust, I storm to my room, slam the door, and stalk off to the window. My hands clench stiffly at my sides. My eyes graze over the flashing lights of the Capitol, and I shakily inhale and exhale to catch my breath.

_He's going to be dead soon, anyways. You just have to outlast him, and maybe, just maybe, be the one to kill him._

I inhale, my eyes fluttering shut as soothing thoughts drift through my mind. Thoughts of vengeance, and of the sweet taste of revenge. I'm not usually too vindictive, but who wouldn't be, if you were allowed to sink a knife into the skin of the boy who killed your own loved one?

I open my eyes and my arm floats to the wide, glassy window. As if in a trance, my eyes gaze on as my fingertips trace circles on the cold glass and leave trails of cloudiness.

Moving closer to the large window, I hug my other arm tightly to my body and draw a small image. First just a circle, followed by a couple of lines to form a body.

I get more immersed in the simple drawing, voices crowding my head as I breathe heavier and heavier, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. Quickly, quickly, quickly draw. My left hand joins to draw on the masterpiece and my hands are fluttering about the glass, the smoothness of the material frosty under my touch.

Satisfied, I pull away.

There, on the window that's cloudy with my breath, lies the picture of a tall, scrappy boy with a hooked nose and a scowl, as the shimmering point of a fashionably leggy, smirking girl's lance sinks into his torso.

The window's image fades away, but my memory of it does not.

**Shael Havern, District Ten**

I watch as Cade, a smile playing on his thin pink lips with his tongue caught between them, carefully balances a card on the tops of three others. His card tower grows higher and higher, though the slightest exhale or jiggle of the table could send it all cascading down.

"Isn't that boring?" My voice cuts through the silence rather rudely. I jab a thumb at the simple tower. "It's gonna fall, you know."

The small boy offers me a knowledgeable smile. "That's half the fun, though, you know," he says, almost mimicking me. "Wondering when it's all going to come crashing down. Kinda fascinating, really, to think that something you worked on for so long could be destroyed with a little touch."

To prove his point, he reaches out a hand, finger protruding, and delicately bats the edge of a card in the middle away. A flurry of red, white, and blue cards collapses promptly.

I stare at the heap, rather sad all of a sudden. All his hard work…

No. It was his decision to wreck the card tower, wasn't it? I did nothing, nothing…

"Um," I begin, eyes flickering to him and to the pile of fallen cards. "I-I'm gonna take a shower, if Jamie or Eagle needs me. Alright?"

"Okay by me," Cade replies in a nonchalant voice, already focusing on creating another card tower. I take off at a brisk walk down to my room's private bathroom, but I make the mistake of looking back. There Cade sits, looking somewhat lonely and sullen.

_No_, I berate myself once more. _He even said it was alright. Nothing wrong with taking a shower. Everybody wants voluptuous hair and clean skin, yeah?_

I step into the bathroom, gently close the door behind me, and start running the water. By the time I slide into the shower stall and select showering options – a lavender scented mist to breeze about the area like a sauna, 89% hot water, rose scented water, waterfall-type shower jets to cascade down and gentle pink lights to strobe the area – I'm already hot to the touch and nearly wrinkly.

I sigh under the hot water and close my eyes briefly, melting under the warmth it brings. District Ten was a good, fine place to grow up, but luxuries like this were unheard of. Even the mayor lived in a meager household, and he didn't have four older brothers constantly slamming each other against walls and gradually tearing the place down.

What's changed since District Ten? Everything. Death has never been an opposing force in my life, but it's nearly unavoidable. My eyes slip open, squinting against the floral-scented waters that splash against me. I'm going up against the trained, the merciless, the cruel. And who am I?

The conflicted.

There's nothing redeeming about me, so I can't see what that boy, Tethys, saw in me. Maybe he thought I was more intimidating than I actually am, yeah. My appearance tends to have that effect on people. Fairly tall with muscle definition and a stern look on my face usually gives that impression.

But truthfully, I'm sure that he's more of a threat than I. He's cunning, sly for sure. That wicked smirk he wears with pride is evident. I'm surprised that he didn't go search the boy from Seven or Eleven, actually, because they're obviously thick and well-built. Bound to be good allies, with their eyes narrowed in malice and fists clenched.

But… but what if I _am_ a good ally? What if I could be a force?

Do I just need to apply myself?

I shudder, shaking the thoughts off. I hold my hand under a dispenser and out squirts a shimmering, cold blob of apple-scented shampoo. I lather it into my thick hair, close my eyes once more.

Once my shower is finished and I'm curled up on the bench facing the window in a nubby blue robe, a knock sounds at my door.

"Come in?"

Eagle struts in, her puffy lips curved downwards in dissatisfaction as she glances me over. Her gaze shifts to the large picture window. "Looking at the lights, Shael?"

I nod.

"They remind you of District Ten, do they?" Her voice is suddenly softer than the crude tone it usually takes on. A sense of wistfulness washes over me. "The streetlamps at the markets, the lanterns you post on the shelves of the barns. We have lights too, they just don't know it."

"They're idiots," I say, immediately regretting my words.

But Eagle merely laughs harshly, her eyes hardened as they stare out into the endless Capitol. "You can say a lot of things about the Capitolites and our president."

I lace my fingers together, drawing my legs together. "I'm guessing you know more than me, having lived through the rebellion and all that."

"It was both the best and worst of times." Eagle wears a sour frown. "Best, because there was a faint glimmer of hope. Hope's more powerful than hatred, faith, and power combined, of course. Worst, because, well…. We lost, didn't we?"

"I wasn't old enough for my mind to process what was happening," I reply. "Most of my brothers, well, they were kind of marred."

"How so, marred?"

I shrug, gazing listlessly at the rows of sparkling lights and mysterious stars. "Violence is prevalent in the Havern family, now. There wasn't a day that went by that one of them gets shoved down a cistern or off of a tree."

"Their minds can't process what's happening even now." Eagle smiles faintly. She reaches up to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear, which is adorned with different jewels and earrings. I stare. I've never noticed that before.

"What's on your ear?" I ask, my mouth coming before my mind once more.

She touches her ear in faint surprise before lowering her hand and offering a surprisingly coy smile. "My mother," she says. "My mother was a fanatic about jewelry, mainly traditional District Ten jewelries. I got these to remind me of her."

As Eagle moves to leave the room, a small pang resounds in my heart. Her mother? Her family? I have Avery, Cora, Jericho, but even they distance themselves from me a bit. Not in a mean way, but enough to let me know that I have to work to truly capture them in friendship.

I wish I had somebody to care for _that_ much…

**A/N: Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day.**

**Sheesh. It's been what, over a month? I feel bad for this story and its readers. First, a two and a half week hiatus because of a trip, and now another month since I've been busy with school. Note to self, don't start any stories just before the summer rush! xD Especially since in A Shot in the Dark, updates came daily. Yikes. What a difference. **

**But, yes. Things should be picking up now. I should think that since the original shock of school's lifting off of me, and I'm getting more and more inspiration, I should be writing more and more. Yay for me, right? :33**

**Alright, as always, the poll has been posted on my profile to vote for your favorite tributes thus far ;) I suggest voting, just saying. **

**Oh, and on a sad note- I don't think I'll start TI until I get to at least eight chapters here. I want to make progress in this story before I start a new one. Hopefully, with the progress I'm planning on making, I should reach my deadline anyways. But yeah, feel free to start planning a tribute ;)**

**Alliances: Careers, Maysa+Maya+Ezra, Braxton+Cade+Griff, Tethys+Shael**

**Questions! :)**

**1\. Thoughts on each of these POV's?**

**2\. General thoughts on the tributes as of now (chartwise, in a love/like/neutral/dislike/hate form)?**

**3\. Favorite five tributes and why?**

**4\. General thoughts on the chapter?**


	7. Heart Attack

_**.**_

_**And I don't care if all the lights are red.**_

_**I've got a wild horse running right through my head.**_

**Haven Faye, District Twelve**

Unwelcome sunlight creeps into my room and, with as sigh, I roll out of the luxurious bed. I stare at the wall, letting my senses come to as I sit with my feet hanging off the bed. A half day of training today, and then private coaching for private training and interviews. Looks like it's another grim day for Haven Faye, _right_?

I slip my feet into a pair of soft, plush-lined navy slippers and tug on a white robe. Shuffling into the kitchen to hopefully grab some nibbles, I run smack into Kinton.

A broad beam immediately stretches across his face, illuminated light evident in those dark eyes of his.

"Good morning, ally," he says cheerfully, waving his waffle in my face. I wrinkle my nose, ducking backwards.

"Just because Grey approved it doesn't mean you have to shout it from the rooftops," I mumble, glancing away.

Kinton's eager face falls. "But I'm happy that you're my ally, is all."

I sigh, pushing past him to the silver fridge. I swing it open, hands gripping the slim handles. "You're seventeen, Kin. You should be able to get yourself a capable ally from Ten or Five or some other place, not a fifteen year old from your district."

"But I like you," he offers. "You keep it real, unlike all the others."

I keep it real? My ears perk up, but I don't let on. Instead, I bend down to rifle through the fruit drawer. "Yeah, and you take pride in being a child."

He merely chuckles, zipping and unzipping his thin jacket nervously. "It's not that, I just like to keep a happy outlook on life, is all. Chill out, would you? It's not like I'm being harsh and, well, a beast like the Careers."

I smirk, plunging my hand past some tangerines. "Shame, shame, Kin. I would have thought that you wouldn't, like, classify them as monsters and the sort."

Kinton's cheeks flush red and he fumbles with his words for a moment. "W-Well, they've shown nothing but cruelty," he stammers out.

Fingertips dragging across some plump limes, I hide another smirk. He's eating his own words, so to speak. I'm about to reply when in strides Grey, her strands of dark hair flowing free from a tangled braid and small lips pursed.

"Grey," Kinton says, obviously happy to be free from the trap I had him in. He clutches her hand for a moment, but Grey merely stares ahead glassily and shakes him off.

"Morning, Kinton, Haven," she murmurs somnolently, eyelids fluttering and voice tripping along. "H-How's your night been?"

"Superb, thanks!"

"Just _swimmingly_."

"I'm glad to hear." She smiles tiredly, one hand snaking up to her knotty braid and twisting it even more. "Grab me a lemon, would you?"

I toss her the yellow fruit as I grab myself a shimmering green apple. Tart, no-nonsense, breakfast for champions. Copping a seat at the table, I bite in.

"Remember, you two are coming back around lunchtime to start work on interviews." Grey rubs the sleep from her eyes and, unexpectedly, sinks her teeth into the lemon, rubbery peel and all. Kinton gasps softly, and she merely spits out, "It helps me to wake up. Try it sometime, kid, really works."

"But doesn't it harm your teeth-"

"Yeah, we're getting off topic?" I say, waving my hand in the middle of the group to flag their attention down. "Why aren't we practicing for private training?"

"You want private training for the training sessions? Have fun with the trainers, then."

"Why aren't you helping us with it, though?"

"Haven, do you see a knife and target here? No, you do not. Therefore, I can't and won't help you with any weaponry or other skills." Grey's no-nonsense attitude breaks through her sleepy exterior. "I'll be coaching one of you half the time, your escort the other half. You got it?"

"Sounds good to me," I reply, shrugging. My eyes wander to Kinton, who fiddles with a burnt part of his waffle.

"I don't know, I just might want your opinion on some other things, weapon-wise," he tells Grey, his eyes avoiding her gaze. "Are mentors allowed to come down to the gymnasium?"

Her eyebrows fly upwards. "Odd request," she murmurs.

"I'm just saying," Kinton quickly covers his tracks with a high-strung giggle. "You know, umm, for a second opinion. That's all, I swear."

"Seems reasonable enough, but no, mentors are not allowed to go down to the Training Center." Grey flaps her hand in a flippant dismissal. "Sorry, kid. Any more questions before you finish off breakfast? I got a zit on my chin that just won't quit."

"_Why'd you tell us that_?" Kinton and I hiss in near perfect unison. He bursts into giggles, while I scowl at the stupid coincidence.

Grey shakes her head. "You two, such characters. It's just because I'm gonna spend three hours trying to get it to go away, and I'll probably binge-watch a marathon of advertisements on how to pop it, is all."

A sick feeling creeps into my stomach and I shudder. "Thanks for sharing," I growl out, tossing my apple core into a trash can as I stride out of the kitchen and down the hall. "Really appreciate it."

In the safe confines of my room, dark since the curtains are drawn and lights are out, I curl up on the suede sofa, fingers idly stroking a pillow. Why am I here? I don't belong here. I belong at home, poking through trash barrels and looking mournfully up at the people as they walk by. I don't deserve to be here, though… nobody does.

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

Obsidian's leering face is the first thing I see when my eyelids flutter open. My heart whomps against my chest and I let out a short shriek before promptly smacking him across the face.

Obsidian draws back, looking hurt as he rubs his burning cheek vigorously. "Hey, Brux!" he whines like a child. "That wasn't nice!"

I fold my arms over my chest with as much dignity as one who was just spooked can have. "Waking me up by breathing down my neck wasn't the nicest, either," I retort, huddling under the heavy blankets. "Let me go back to sleep."

"Say please."

I glare at him. Does he really have to be so childish? But after a moment of staring into his glassy blackish eyes, like his namesake, Obsidian, I heave a sigh of defeat and give in. "Please, can I go back to sleep?"

"Nope!" He bursts out laughing, and I groan. My foot juts out to kick his side, and when it connects, he's thrown off the bed.

But he immediately pops back up like a crazed jack-in-the-box. "God, Brux, you're really looking for some beauty sleep, huh? Not like it could help you, of course, but-"

"Shut. Up," I grunt, trying to kick him as much as my blanket-covered foot will allow.

Obsidian frowns, thick eyebrows drawing together. "You're not as fun as I thought you'd be. Maybe I should have gone with Aspen."

_Yeah, like she'll make it off her plate in time to grab a pack of crackers._ I roll my eyes, but begrudgingly stagger out of the room and into the kitchen.

Waffles for breakfast, piled high with diced strawberries and peaches and slathered in as much sweet whipped cream and sticky maple syrup as I want, including a large cup of joe with cream. Topped off with a morning smoke and a nice 'chat' (a brisk conversation that involved some insults and growls), I run a comb through my hair, carefully smooth some gel through it, gargle with minty mouthwash, and set off for the elevator.

I'm stopped by Aspen, gnawing on a fingernail. "B-Brux?"

I spare her a glance. "Uh, yeah?"

"It's, um, not a topic I want to bring up so casually, but, um…" she trails off.

I sigh, letting loose a breath of minty freshness. "Just spit it out, Aspen, I don't have all day…"

She stares at the ground as she mumbles. "Do you think that today, maybe, I could t-train with you? As, um, allies? Since you're not with the Careers?"

I give her the hairy eyeball, immediately letting her know she's daffy. "Don't be an idiot, Aspen," I say, brushing her off like a pesky fly. "You have everybody else. I've already made it known that I don't want to be your ally, and I thought that you had declared that as well."

She shifts. "Um, yeah, but I thought that-"

"Look, Aspen, I have to get to training," I cut her off, pity already seeping into my tone. I step into the elevator, push the button with a finger, and start shaking my head at my own stupidity. _No, no_. I can't feel bad for her. She is the enemy, and she's dumb otherwise. Being all aloof and that.

The training center offers me a reprieve from my guilty thoughts about Aspen, and I stride in, feeling like I'm walking on air. I see Merritt, and he gives me a quick grin between stabs of a mannequin.

"Hey, Merritt."

"Hello, Brux."

The tall blond boy pants slightly, shoulders heaving up and down. His jumpsuit top is stripped down to reveal a thin brick red wife beater, stained with patches of sweat. He's been down here for a while.

"You sure showed that dummy who's boss," I comment, jabbing my thumb at the said item. It lies limply on its post, shards of crimson plastic jutting at odd angles where the tip of the pike penetrated it. "Kudos."

Merritt laughs dryly, but his grim look doesn't fade. "Good practice for the arena, really. What do you specialize in again, the crossbow?"

"I showed you how it works," I say, smirking.

He tilts his head back slightly, running a hand through his short blond hair. "Ah, that's right! We chilled together for most of yesterday."

"Uh huh," I respond, content that he remembers and accepts me. Time to make a move. "Anyways, I'm gonna head off to take a crack at the different weapons, a knife in particular, but before I go, could I ask you a solid?"

"Sure, Brux. What?"

I look Merritt dead in the eye. "Could I join your alliance?"

The words sound so naked out in the open like that, and not as all confident as I'd have liked them to sound. But they're out, and there's nothing to do but wait for an answer.

Merritt seems pretty nonchalant about the whole thing, though. He merely shrugs. "I'd be fine with it," he says. "I'm the leader of our alliance, and not self-proclaimed either, which means you're in since you have my approval."

No matter how formal his little speech sounds, the intent is clear as air. I feel like punching the air with a sudden ego boost, but instead, I try and keep my cool. "Hey, thanks, Merritt." I grin widely, my fingers drumming rapidly on the sides of my thighs. "Shall I introduce myself to the rest of us, then?"

He cracks a smile, which is a change from his naturally negative appearance. "Yeah. I'll go with you, if you like. They're all down here, after all."

"Nah, I'll be cool." I shrug, stuffing my hands in my pockets and feeling the outline of a lighter and cigarette. Tempting, really.

"Are you sure you don't want some help? The girls are pretty witchy. Tough waters to navigate, my friend." He cocks his head slightly, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.

"I don't care about their attitudes, it's their skills I'm worried about."

Merritt looks intrigued. "You don't care about their personalities at all? Seriously?"

"At this point, I am pretty much past caring… I wonder if this is a smoke free zone?"

**Aria Verselis, District Six**

Sliding into the elevator, shadowing Halcyon, I silently watch as the doors slide shut, hiding Dalton and Gingham from view. We're two hours late to training, and it's unnerving.

"Do you think we'll get punished?" Halcyon asks conversationally.

I shake my head. I _hope_ not.

"Probably right. They'd be idiots not to offer some kids a bit of extra sleep…" He sighs, flicks his bleach blond hair to the side, and waits in silence as the doors open to reveal the training center.

Tributes left and right stare at us as we stride past. Halcyon heads straight for the saber station, ignoring the giddy grin of the boy from One, Soren, while I make a beeline for the poison table.

But there's another tribute here. Cayley Torrelli, her cheeks flushed and dark hair wispy around her face as she struggles to crush some vervain root.

"Didn't tell me how hard this would be," she grunts at the trainer as she tries to smash the hardy root under her blunt pole.

"You're the one who signed up for it, hon."

I silently take my spot next to her, grabbing a small dish already flecked with bits of dried mixtures. Selecting a green-purple root that I know as velatine, I delicately place it into the dish and add just a pipet-full of water. I start mixing it.

Cayley watches me quietly, eyebrows drawn together in observation. She then turns back to the trainer. "I wanna be like _her_."

"You'd have to listen when I talk to you, then."

I try to hide a giggle as Cayley's cheeks flush a darker shade and she stamps her foot. "I have been listening to you, and all you've done is make me look like an idiot!"

And yet, the male trainer taps his lips with a leaf and allows his eyelids to flutter pathetically. "Oh, p-p-poor _dear_."

This time, I squirm uncomfortably, not a big fan of the conflict that this is bringing. Cayley's darting eyes fall upon me and she cracks her irritated exterior, allowing a small smile to break free. "Did you listen to him? Is that how you got so good…" Her stare finds my sleeve, which bears my district number. "…Six?"

I fumble for my notebook, tucked neatly inside one of the spacious pockets. Bringing it out and scribbling some words on it, I turn it to her. _My name is Aria, thanks_.

"You can't talk?"

Scribble, scribble. _I choose not to, my father calls it selective mutism. It's hard to explain, sorry._

Cayley's lips move rhythmically as she silently reads my note, but isn't daunted. She looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. Her quibble with the trainer seems to be forgotten. "You're not weird, though."

_No, I'm perfectly normal. _I end the 'l' with a flourishing loop.

She shrugs her bony shoulders, maintaining eye contact and biting her lip gently. "Hey, do you wanna be allies? This might seem sudden and all, but I was just thinking…"

My heart gives a flutter, but it's short-lived. Will Cayley offer me help and courage? Or will her presence alone refrain me from accomplishing anything truly great? Will we get further, together, or will she leave me for dead without a second glance?

My fingers move alone, as if by clockwork. The pencil scrawls across the paper, making scratching noises as they etch one simple word into the creamy white. _Yes_.

Eyes brightening, gaining some sparkling luster, Cayley surges forward and wraps her arms around me in a hug. I squeak, the breath knocked out of me, but she doesn't seem to notice- or care. Instead, she rocks me from side to side, her form larger than me and more dominant.

When she pulls away from the embrace, her rosy lips move rapidly. "Y'know, Aria, I'm so happy for this alliance, and you really don't seem like the type to betray me, and I just want you to know that I'd never betray you, either? I'd never think of it, because if I don't wind up going back, I-I want you to." Her cheeks flush happily, and her chocolate brown eyes twinkle with glimmering tears.

Dumbfounded and wheezing for air, I catch my breath before writing something back. _Are you usually like this, forming quick emotional bonds? Should I know something about you?_ But something inside of me makes me erase every letter of it, and I'm left staring at the paper, Cayley eagerly awaiting a reply.

Um.

_I'm glad that we're allies, too._

She mistakes the simplicity of it all for a deeper meaning, which, of course, is something completely different to me than to her. Again embracing me, she giggles over and over again.

I want to go back to my velatine mixture. I suddenly don't want to be here, trapped with all these mysterious promises and dark burdens. Clawing my way out of the hug, I blindly stagger to the table, briskly placing the notebook and pencil on a dish and allowing my hands to roam about the table.

Next to me, Cayley whistles, ignoring blatantly the jabs and insults that the malicious trainer throws at her, content with the knowledge of a new ally and confidant.

Is this what I'll be rooted to until my eventual death?

A girl who changes emotions on a whim, thinking that me, a pathetic, poetic kid, compared to her, will be her savior? I can't save her for my life. I can't do this. But she doesn't know that.

Shakily inhaling a breath, my trembling arm reaches for a scalpel.

And beside me, Cayley begins to hum.

**Merritt Cordeau, District Four**

Silently observing as Brux's lanky form moves to visit Eidra and Carisa at the specialty weapons station, I exhale the breath I've been holding in. I'm sure they won't take it too well. It doesn't matter what they think, though. _They_ don't lead this alliance.

A mop of red hair and long limbs slides next to me. Juno, bearing a trident and a goofy grin.

"Hey, Merritt." She winks, carefully leaning the weapon on a dummy as her fingers move to braid her wild hair. "How's life been?"

"We have a new ally," I murmur, eyes not wavering from Brux.

Juno shrugs. "Yeah, I saw that. He's pretty young, though. Are you sure you want him to join us?"

I nod solemnly. "His weaponry skills are great, and he's well-rounded otherwise. The only things that turn me off are his cockiness and arrogance."

"And the fact that he smokes." Juno's nose wrinkles up, and she shudders. "Yeee-ick."

"That doesn't bother me too much, though. It's not like he'll be able to take some cigarettes into the arena."

"Unless they're his tokens," she muses, letting a little giggle slip free. But she composes herself quickly, straightening her spine and cocking her head. "But I'm not asking about Brux. I'm asking about you, Merritt."

"Huh?" I mentally berate myself for looking so dumb.

"How are you, in particular?" Juno smiles.

It doesn't take too long to consider. I'm stressed, hoping for this all to be over quickly. I want the world to go away.

"Could be better." I shrug.

She frowns. "What do you mean, could be better? I'm havin' the time of my life over here."

I roll my eyes at her carefreeness. "You don't understand," I sigh, conflicted. I half want to take the elevator upstairs and seriously discuss her nature of not taking it seriously with Nuke and Annie, but the human, teenager half of me knows that Juno won't change. She truly is her own person.

"Cool" is my witty, smart response, and as Juno shrugs and accepts this, I shift the weight of the pike from one hand to the next.

"So, do you want to train with me, or…?" I trail off.

"Yes!" Juno's answer is brisk and rushed. She follows up with a sheepish grin and a jerk of her head. "Carisa and Eidra are each other's best friends and Wraith, um, is like a loner. Kind of blunt when I say it like that, but it's true." She pouts.

I battle a small smile. "So you want to train with me?"

"Well, I mean, yeah."

Juno leaves her trident leaning against the dummy, forgotten, as she grabs a pike from the rack. Feeling like I have to instruct her, I back up a bit, then surge forward, thrusting the shaft of the pike towards my target.

It smashes into the dummy's torso cleanly, splinters of the crimson innards spilling out. Juno nods approvingly, making a humming noise with her throat. Eyeing up her own pike, she repeats the actions.

It's a messy yet effective throw. The pike sails through the hair clumsily before colliding with the dummy and tumbling to the ground. Not enough force, obviously.

"Hey, better luck next time," I tell her quietly, so not to embarrass her.

She's undaunted, and merely shrugs. "Eh, I like sticking to my tridents. Whatever floats your boat, ya know?"

A quiet clearing of somebody's throat makes me glance behind us in surprise. There stands Wraith, a couple inches shorter than me and looking smaller than ever. His pale face breaks out in a small smile. "Hello, Juno, Merritt."

"Hi, Wraith," I say uncertainly. He's never really stuck by me too much, usually preferring to go off as a lone wolf.

"Hey there, bud." Juno's calm voice echoes mine, and she gives Wraith an amiable, friendly grin. "What are you up to, weapons? Like your kopis?"

"Yes, the kopis…" Wraith's smile increases dreamily as he pauses in his speech. But I must be looking at him oddly or something, because he quickly crashes back to realty. "Um, I was hoping that you two could show me the tricks and trades of how to work with a pike, though."

"Everybody wants to learn how to use a pike, it seems," I mutter to myself. First Brux, then Juno, now Wraith over here. More loudly, I say, "Juno would be better off showing you her trident skills. The pike is difficult to work with."

Wraith turns to Juno, who promptly beams. The two of them set off towards the trident station, scattering little Griff from Three in their midst.

Brux pops up beside me.

"Where'd you come from?" I ask nastily, on instinct.

"My mom. No, I'm kidding. Eidra and Carisa are jerks."

I smirk. "How'd you discover that obvious fact? What did they do to you?"

Brux's shoulders slump visibly. "They insulted me when I said I was in your alliance. They're just stupid, I know."

I frown slightly. "Did you tell them that I had approved it?"

"Yes."

My insides clench at Eidra's and Carisa's stupidity. I'm the leader. If I approve something, it's approved. And Brux just so happens to be the issue on which we're deciding.

Grabbing his wrist, which provokes a startled gasp from Brux, I drag him over to the station where the two girls are currently at; the poisons station, snickering as the little girl from Six silently works, putting her whole body into pounding down some hard nut thing.

"Do you two have something to say to Brux?" I hiss at them.

Carisa speaks first, eyes darting over to Eidra in glee. "He's not in our alliance, what more is there to be said?"

"She's right, you know, he just came up and introduced himself as the newest member of our pack." Eidra shrugs nonchalantly, barely sparing me a glance.

Beside me, Brux splutters. "Hey, now! I'm in!"

"He's right. I approved it." I lean in closer to Eidra, glaring. Eidra's like the mastermind behind their little friendship. Carisa's her toy. "So stop acting like a child, Eidra."

The girl begins to speak, but she smirks instead and stares blatantly at Brux. "Fine. If he has any sorts of skills, I'm going to say yes and move on."

Knowing that I have this in the bag, I throw an arm over Brux, motion for the two girls to follow, and stride away.

_In the bag._

**Cade Bennett, District Ten**

"This is so easy." Griff sighs in delight as he reaches out and connects two wires. "It's as easy as putting two noodles together, really! See, Braxton, this is the conductor noodle. Connect that to the…"

I stop what I'm doing for a moment to stare at him, but it's obvious that he's in his own little world, brown eyes glazed over in glee. Nothing of interest to me, really. I shrug and turn back to my own creation, a little wire wiener dog. While Braxton is hanging onto Griff's every word, soaking up all the wire knowledge he can get, I'm actually doing something fun.

Braxton sighs, stepping away from the table briefly. "I don't get it, Cade. So there's worms, noodles, straws, pieces of hair, and wires? And half of them are conductors, I guess?"

"You're exactly right," Griff replies smugly.

The dark-haired boy glances over to me. "Cade, how are you faring?"

"Better than you, obviously." I smile, holding up my figurine. "I figure that my bowie knife skills are pretty decent, so I'm just taking a break."

"Is that gonna be your token, then?"

"Nah." I reach inside my shirt and pull out the strap of leather that makes up my necklace. At the end are three teeth, wolf fangs from skeletons of wolves that the Peacekeepers have shot over the years. Or, rather, that's what Winston tells me.

"Those are cool," Griff says. "Like white mountains."

I stare at the teeth- triangle-like, yes, but not mountains. "What's your token?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slim circle of metal. It's like a little plaque. "My mum made it for me especially. It has a reindeer on it."

"Uh-huh, really?" Braxton leans in, staring at the little image of the animal. "Why a reindeer?"

"They live in the coldest parts of Panem," says Griff absent-mindedly, stroking his finger over the picture. "They pull sleighs in wintertime, and they deliver presents to everybody if they're nice."

"I've heard of those," I say, looking over at Braxton in expectation that he'll show me his token. He does, and rather quickly, too.

"See this?" He points to his left ear, to a small dot in the center of his earlobe. "That's my earring. Not much significance, but it's kinda good luck and stuff."

"Wow, that's-"

"_Tributes. You have five minutes to complete your training."_

We all glance up in surprise at the monotone voice. "I guess our time here is cut short," Braxton says.

"It's alright, I was getting hungry anyways." I dismiss this with a flap of my hand. "And we'll see each other tomorrow for private training and the next day for interviews, right?"

"Definitely!" Griff pulls us into an awkward one-sided hug, but Braxton chuckles, which eases the overall tension, and pats us all clumsily on the backs.

"I'm going to go up now for a bite to eat and maybe a soda pop. I'll see you two fellows later." Braxton winks as he starts striding to the elevator in the wake of Haven and Kinton from Twelve.

I stand there with Griff for a moment, smiling dumbly and trying to find something to say, when he squeaks, "Oh, Ellika's going up! I'm gonna follow her, bye, Cade Bennett from District Ten! See you tomorrow!" and starts rushing away, his longish hair flapping in his breeze.

And then I'm alone, and feeling even more stupid than before.

Shael walks by regally, with Tethys Acosta drifting in her wake, so I'm pleased when, after I tap her on the arm, she turns towards me and nods. A simple gesture, but a welcome one. I trail after the two into a vacant elevator.

"Satisfying day of training, that was," Tethys says conversationally once Kiera Brennan slips in with us, arms wrapped tightly around her skeletal-looking stomach.

"It was decent," Shael replies in that permanently wavering tone of hers. She glances at Tethys, then wraps a lock of hair around her finger.

"My day was pretty cool, too," I pipe up, not like they were asking me. "Got a lot of last minute training in."

"Cade Bennett." Tethys speaks directly to me, his eyes piercing mine. Unlike Griff, who's the exact same age as him, Tethys appears weathered and sage. His brow furrows as he looks me over. "Shael's district partner, right?"

"Yeah, and you're from District Eight." I shrug, well aware that bony Kiera is staring at me with those gaunt, hollow eyes of hers. It's unnerving.

"You have an alliance with two other boys, our age. Griff and Braxton. How's that working for you?"

I swallow, feeling like a bug under a microscope. "It's doing pretty good," I answer truthfully, fidgeting a little bit. Tethys's stare is creepy, to say the least. It's like he's scrutinizing me.

The time our elevator opens onto our floor is a lovely escape. Even Jamie's pinched nose and Eagle's indifferent expression are welcome to me. I slip out of the elevator, away from creepy Tethys and eerie Kiera.

"Cade, tell me about your day!" Jamie seems overly happy to see me as I pinch a couple crackers out of a dish. I smile at her.

"It was… _decent_." I test the word out, eyes flickering over to the brooding Shael to see her reaction. When this gains no reaction but a confused eyebrow lift, I shudder to take back my words. "I'm kidding, it was excellent. Last-minute training, what a lifesaver. Now, hey, Jamie?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think we could have any… lunch?"

**Cayley Torelli, District Eight**

Scooping a good-sized spoonful of potato salad into my mouth, a savory, almost garlicky taste settles over my taste buds and my lips quirk up into a small smile. A melancholy feeling drifts about the room, what with Tethys's suddenly sad appearance and the identical frowns of Velour and Velvet, our mentors.

"How was your day of training, Tethys? I got a new ally!" I'm gleeful, still a bit giddy over my newfound luck. My district partner, however, isn't as glad for me.

He shrugs, sliding some chips across his plate. "Cool."

My overjoyed mood is cut short, and I refrain from sending a harsh glare his way. Why are people never happy for each other? We are stupid; we only care about ourselves, never the newfound joy that comes to others. The human race as a whole is like one big tangle of worms, all squirming in desperation for their own safety.

Realization hits; I should probably be more selfish, too, so that I can have at least a shot at victory. The humane, selfless tributes never win, they're always backstabbed or sacrificed. Is that what I want to be, another faintly glimmering face in the sky, soon to be forgotten?

Or do I want to be known as Cayley Torrelli, the girl that won? Cayley Torelli, the victor? The savior of District Eight, giving those hungry mouths some food for the year?

Velour notices my spaced-out look and she jabs me with the butt of her fork. "Wake up and eat, Cayley, you need some energy for private coaching. Your, um, wonderful escort will take you first." She clears her throat, nodding towards Fairy, as I've dubbed the colorful man.

Fairy smiles, claps his hands together. His new cobalt blue eyes sparkle with delight. And then, as if feeling the need to start a speech or something, he clears his throat and says in a strange accent with stretched out vowels, "It would be an honor to know that I've helped a child come home from these amazing Games, especially you, Cayley dearest!"

A scowl comes to my face. I stare coldly at him. "These Games aren't amazing, not even close," I say quietly. "Amazing how some people can be so cruel, sure. But not amazing in any other way."

Fairy's shoulders slump, and his chipper mood fades. "They're fun to watch," he mutters.

"Fun to watch!" I nearly explode, sudden rage grabbing hold of my tongue and my mind. I clutch the edge of the table, blood rushing to my face. My teeth are clenched tightly, eyes boring into the shrinking man.

"What?" His voice is very, very small.

I jump up from my chair, disrupting my ham sandwich, milk, and potato salad, and stride briskly around the table to the idiotic man. Just before I reach him, hands find my arms to contain me.

Velvet.

"Let me go, you evil woman!" I scream, trying to surge towards cowering Fairy. Tethys watches with wide eyes from his part of the table. Velour leaps from her seat to grab me, and just when I think I'm getting free to get my hands on the escort, she clenches onto me as well. I am fully and utterly trapped.

Squirming still as they drag me away from the table, I don't even hear their words, yelled in angry and menacing tones. Instead, all I can process is that the man who's supposed to be helping me has declared my upcoming death as 'fun to watch', and is currently unprotected and smiling at my contained rage.

The two mentors shove me inside my room, where I nearly escape by throwing a fist out at Velour. She ducks, curses, and slams the door. Velvet, already out of the room, calls, "When you calm down, you can come out!"

Shrieking, I hurtle myself towards the door, fumbling with the knob to break free. It's locked. It's locked. I'm stuck like a rat in a trap, and I can't get out. Yelling swears at my captors, I use my hard fists and knuckles to beat at the door, which I do repeatedly, each time listening as it emits a satisfying thunk.

I do this for twenty minutes, and nobody on the outside makes a peep.

My knuckles, red and swollen and even dotting with a bit of blood, are tired. My head aches. I slump on the floor by the door, resting my head against it. My eyelids flutter shut.

If I'm so unpleasant to work with that even my mentor and her partner have to lock me away, what chance will I have in the arena, where nobody can simply put shackles on my wrists to calm me down? What about Aria? She's so small and meek, she'd be torn apart by my bouts of fury.

I lift my hand to my forehead to find it dappled with beads of sweat. Wiping it clean with the back of my hand, no doubt smearing a bit of blood as I do, I let my shaky hand rest on my knee.

"I'm calm!" I call.

"Prove it!" shouts back Velour, voice raspy from previous shrieking.

I bang my head against the door once, lips pressed tightly together. Nobody understands me, and these people don't, either. Where will I fit in? Certainly not here.

I exhale, allowing my eyelids to flutter shut. I'll be okay as long as I keep my temper under control, right? And I won't harm Aria, or Tethys, or Velour, or Velvet. If I harm Fairy-Boy, that doesn't really matter, since he's a deluded creep. But it's the people that I care about that are mainly in my way.

What about the arena, though? What if I do manage to defeat the odds, and go back to District Eight, my home?

With a sinking realization, I realize that I don't _want_ to go back to my district. I want… I want to start over. But the Capitol doesn't give second chances. They only give death. Nothing more, nothing less. Why should District Eight be dreaded, when it's where I was born and raised?

_The problem with District Eight is that it's where I'm from._

**Soren Valen, District One**

I try to avoid Carisa's death glare, ducking under the table to pick up a pencil. But when I slowly come back up, there she is, eyebrows dark and eyes narrowed in accusation. Sheen and Teal, they merely exchange amused glances.

This angers me. I turn to Teal. "Why are you so happy about this, when you're only a year older than me?"

He shrugs, grinning. "Hey, _kid_," he says with obvious relish. "Why don't we get back to interview training instead of chatting about ages?"

A small sigh evades my lips and I turn to my sheet of paper, eyes flickering over the scribbled words and grey eraser trails. My pencil's small pink eraser, once capped neatly and smelling new, is now down to the circular green metal part, with none left for me to use. I look longingly over at Carisa's, still pristine, marred only by one mark.

"Can I borrow your pencil?" I ask her politely.

A snarl escapes her, and she holds the small utensil close to herself, away from me. "Get your own filthy pencil, you scum."

My lips tremble. I just wanted to use her eraser.

Sheen notices this and juts her hand out, clapping against my chin so I'm forced to look up. "Cheer up, bloke," she belches out with a smile. "You've got a pencil right there, and a perfectly good piece of paper to use for interviewin' answers, what more could a boy want?"

"An eraser?"

She rolls her eyes, dramatically flopping sideways onto the table. "Calm your jets, Soren. You don't need no eraser unless you plan on making mistakes, and to make a mistake, you'd have to write something down, and to write something down, you'd have to stop talkin' with me."

I stare at her blearily, uneasily. How exactly did this slobbering mess of a lady win her Hunger Games?

Teal sighs and hands me his own pencil, slipping mine from my hand. Our fingers touch and, with a faint note of surprise, I notice that he's smirked. I scowl at him, conflicted on whether to thank him or be insulted. "Th-Thanks?"

"Anytime, dude," he replies, with a wink that makes me feel odd.

"Alright, you two." Sheen consults her own sheet of paper, held up by a fancy silver clipboard. "Hm… what if he asks you about your spectacular show at the Reaping?"

It's easy to scribble something down in my spiky scrawl_. Carisa and I have had a long, intertwined past. There were misunderstandings and a love triangle, everything a good story should have. That's what we were, a mere fantasy. Long story short, she doesn't like me, but I'm drawn to her, I have to admit. She's alluring, even in her hatred. She thinks of me as an annoyance, or as a pest, but I am repellant to her fury. I am-_

I notice blank stares at me. I've been writing for minutes. Carisa, judging by her appearance and bored look, has been done a long time ago. Straightening my spine nervously, I wait for Teal to actually ask the question as he pretends to be the interviewer.

He asks me first, probably curious to my long answer. "Soren, that was quite a show at the Reaping there," Teal says in a deep voice, chin tucked to his neck neatly. "Care to explain?"

I shakily look down to my notes. "Carisa and I have had a long, intertwined past," I begin, much to Carisa's dismay. She gasps dramatically and gives me a stern scowl as I proceed to read the rest of my answer in a robotic voice.

And then Teal repeats the same question to Carisa, getting a brief reply in return. "I was the planned volunteer, naturally, but Soren decided he was a rebel, that's all." She goes on with a smirk. "I'd planned to volunteer with Flash, another good trainee, but instead an incompetent boy took the stands. Sad, huh?"

Sheen gives her a high-five and me, a pitying look. _Two-faced_. I berate her silently.

"Next question, then." Teal smiles lightly. "Anything you want to fight for?"

Again, the words flow from the dark grey tip of the pencil as easy as water rolls off a duck's feathers.

_I want to win for Carisa, to prove to her that all I really wanted was for her to be happy. Well, that would be a lie. I don't want to win, I want her to win_. I look up from my speech to see her, tongue gently set between her two set of pearly whites in concentration as she writes. Even after all we've been through, she's still the most important person in my life, and after she wins, I hope that she knows that.

Maybe I'll even be one of the most important people in her life, once that happens. Maybe she'll even read my obituary.

This time, Teal asks her the question and she puffs out her chest, obviously getting ready for a long answer. It is. She barely glances at her paper, rather speaks from her heart. It's this terribly long answer about Hollis, the filthy guy, and her daughter. My heart twinges painfully when she mentions me in a way that no human should have to be mentioned, but perks up again when she talks about life after death, and how she will eventually rejoice for the fallen.

"Beautiful," Teal says, trying to hide a smirk. Obviously, he's not one for sentimental stuff. "Soren? Same question."

I read off my answer, eyes flickering up to Carisa now and then to gage her reaction. Her nose is wrinkled in utter disgust.

"How can you live with yourself, reading all those lies?" she spits out, livid. "Soren, just stop it now."

"He's entitled to his own daffy opinion," Sheen pipes up, giggling.

But it's too much. Before I know it, tears are staining my vision and I'm striding to the balcony, slamming the doors behind me, and rocking my body on the stone cold ground as the evening fades to night.

All I really wanted was for her to thrive.

**Maya Verone, District Five**

As soon as the snores of somnolent Scarlet, the heavy breathing of Kassidy, and the light puttering of Ezra's lips start, I'm out of bed and bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly, fingers twitching in desperation.

It was easy to pinch a knife and a screwdriver from the kitchen when the Avoxes can't talk. Not that they would have caught me, though- a strategic diversion of three seconds was enough time to grab my supplies.

I slip the screwdriver from my sleeve, pressing my body against the wall of my bedroom as I unscrew the screws from the heavy metal grill. My fingers burn from flexing and the heat of the grate both, but it's exhilarating after being kept cooped up for so long. I slip the thin blade of the knife under the now-loosened grill and manage to pick it up.

Sliding the heavy grate to the side, under my bed, I quickly tie my hair back into a breezy ponytail and, sucking in my stomach, slide into the grate.

Hot, hot, hot. That's the only thing that registers as I scrabble around blindly in the dark for a second, wishing I had brought a flashlight. But soon enough the temperature of the metal declines and the square tube evens out so I can crawl.

Down. Down. There's a sharp decline, and suddenly light. I squint, making out the faint image of bright red hair and pale skin dotted with freckles. I recognize the girl as Juno Verdet, District Four. I've done it, then, I've accomplished by journey down the piping system to the floor down!

I watch as the girl slips on a grey sweatshirt as a nightshirt and, with a yawn and a charmless not-so-subtle scratching of herself, turns out the lights. Excellent. My blood pulses with adrenaline. Now's my chance, no doubt the rest of the people on her floor are heading off to sleep as well.

The crawl in the dark takes about twenty minutes before I find a vent that opens into their living room, marked by the embers of the fireplace dying out and the windows alit by the grand Capitol lights sparkling in the distance.

Using my tools to unscrew the vent and slip through, stomach sucked in and lips whispering prayers that I won't make a sound, I'm in the assigned District Four living room. It feels exhilarating.

I tiptoe to their kitchen, finding their amenities to be identical to ours. No good in pinching off one of theirs. I'd hoped that there would be little fish insignias or something on their silverware, but no avail. Even in their large fridge, the same food as we have but with different rolls.

I sneak down the hall until I come to the first door. Now, if this was back in the District Five living quarters, this would be Scarlet's room, the room of the weaker mentor because of its slightly smaller living space. I remember seeing Annie and Nuke, the mentors for Four, and Annie's wavering stability.

Mustering courage and trying to remain calm without shrieking with joy, I silently open the door.

Tiptoeing to the bedside, I see a face tanned by sun and wavy red hair streaked with blond. Long eyelashes. Pouty lips. It's Annie Cresta, all right.

Fast asleep.

A grin spreading over my face, I scurry to her bureau and open the small jewelry drawer. Staring back at me, rows and rows of glimmering jewels and chains, most of them marked with a small trident crest.

I let out a short, excited squeak, heart pounding, and start sifting through them, finding the prettiest and no doubt most valuable. After a good two minutes of searching, I'm left with twelve necklaces, four pins, a large brooch, an anklet, three rings, four earrings, and six bracelets, plus some chain thing that may or may not be useful to me.

A good loot.

I quietly shut the jewelry drawer and slide the jewelry into my very tight top, sealing them between the fabric of it and my own skin. I'm about to slide out of the room, grinning like a cat, when a slight gasp comes from behind me.

My pulse stops and my blood is pounding in my ears. I swivel around.

Annie Cresta gazes at me, illuminated by a small bedside lamp with a small awed frown on her lips. "It's that one girl again," she says softly. "I wonder where I've seen her before… District Nine? Yes, certainly."

She's babbling to herself. I should make a break for it, but something roots me to my place. I stare back at her.

"Will you be in my dreams tonight?" Her voice is soft.

I'm not quite sure what to do, but I manage a frozen nod.

Annie smiles softly, resting her head back on her pillow. "Alright, then," she murmurs. "I'll see you soon enough, then, won't I?"

I nod again, itching to run for my life.

Folding her arms over her chest and allowing her eyes to flutter shut, Annie goes stock still. It's then when my legs force me out of the room, back to the hallway, and then the living room. I barely have enough willpower left in me to screw the vent back on and shimmy my way up the ventilation system to my floor.

But when I do, back in the safety of my own room, one quick glance back at my newfound treasures, the glittering gold and silver accented with dripping jewels, makes it all worth it.

I wonder what I'll do with them all.

**A/N: Heart Attack by The Asteroids Galaxy Tour.**

**There we have it, then. Another glance at these tributes before interviews, and one step closer to both the arena and TI! Getting pumped up, hm? Maybe prepping a tribute? ;) I can't wait- well, that's a lie. I'll enjoy this story for as long as it rides out, of course.**

**I have nothing too much to say, except that there wasn't too long of a wait and hey, it's nearly winter! Going to get a lot of inspiration, I'm sure, and, as always, a review is appreciated! :)**

**And the poll is still open ;) Just in case you haven't voted. **

**Till next time, lovelies!**

**Alliances: Careers, Maysa+Maya+Ezra, Braxton+Cade+Griff, Tethys+Shael, Haven+Kinton, Halcyon+Soren, Aria+Cayley**

**Loners: Ellika, Aspen, Cole, Kiera**

**Questions, of course!**

**1\. Thoughts on each of these POV's?**

**2\. Your favorite parts of this chapter?**

**3\. Favorite alliance and why?**

**4\. Favorite mentor and why?**

**5\. General thoughts?**


	8. The Way I Am

_**.**_

_**And I am whatever you say I am.  
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?**_

**Ezra Jefferson, District Five**

Standing and yawning, I shake my head as if to rid myself of the vivid nightmares that plagued me last night – mainly ones of Maysa and Maya, each ending in a gory death – and open my bedroom curtains, revealing a dark cityscape. Whoops. I press a button on the panel next to the window, and it quickly shows a bright, glorious, pink and orange sunrise illuminating the Capitol. Beautiful, just beautiful.

I lace my fingers together and sniff the air. Pancakes, with sticky-sweet maple syrup. Powdered sugar. Hot chocolate. Fresh orange juice. Sizzling bacon, probably dripping with salty juices. Sauces, sauces, sauces. And lastly, the scent of freshly cooked eggs.

Trying to keep a positive face on, I ceremoniously walk from my room and into the kitchen, where Maya already sits, gobbling down a cheesy scrambled egg platter. A half-empty glass of a mysterious reddish purple juice sits next to her.

"Morning, Ezzy!" chirps Maya, motioning wildly for me to join her. I plop on a high stool to her left, noticing her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. If I hadn't known better, I'd say something amazing happened to her, like her boy crush asked her out or she inherited a large sum of money.

"Good morning, Maya." I smile down into the platters of hot foods, quickly pulling a small stack of pancakes onto my plate, along with some strips of greasy bacon. To top it off, syrup drizzled over the entirety of the thing and a cup of simple cranberry juice.

"Good morning, Maya and Ezra!" Scarlett, my mentor, floats in as if descended from a cloud, beaming.

"Lovely day!" Maya announces.

"Yes, such a wonderful day!" Scarlett gushes. She clutches my hand. "Training sessions today, kiddos! I'm so excited for you two!"

"I'm excited, too," says my district partner, her throat working overtime to swallow her breakfast and speak at the same time. "Ezra and I have been training really hard. Now is our day to flaunt it all and try to get a high score, yeah?"

"Not a high score," I pipe up timidly. I stare at my fingernails. "I mean, we don't want to be targeted by the Careers."

Maya shakes her head. "So what if they take notice of us? Noticeable is good, it draws us sponsors!"

"But it can also get you killed," Scarlett replies, siding with me. I gaze gratefully at her as she continues, "Hey, though, I'm not the keeper of your actions. Flub it or ace it, I'll be proud of you two either way."

"_Proud?" _

Kassidy's accusatory voice rings out in a screechy, unappealing way, and I nearly duck for cover from the iciness it brings with it. She draws herself in, glaring at Maya in particular, whose ruddy cheeks suddenly seem pale and lifeless under her scowl.

"Yeah, proud," Scarlett says dismissively, waving her off and helping herself to a bunch of rotund green grapes. "Honestly, you'd have to be blind not to see-"

"That we have a thief among us," Kassidy growls, slinking closer and closer to Maya.

I'm confused, all of a sudden. "Thief? What?"

Maya's not confused; rather, she's more in the know than anybody except Kassidy. Her breath comes in shallow pants. She stands, eyes locked with her mentor's. "Kassidy, please…"

"You never told me what you were, what you've done!" Kassidy tries hard to keep an angry voice hidden. "You never said that you were a _kleptomaniac_!"

The room is silent except for the bubbling of water and the sizzling of bacon on a frying pan, which a dark-skinned Avox rushes to take off the burner. Even those noises seem muted, Maya's silence louder than all of them.

"What happened?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"I'm s-sorry," Maya whimpers, tears rushing to the corners of her eyes. "I didn't mean for anything like this to happen…"

"_What_ happened?" I ask loudly.

Kassidy blatantly ignores me, rushing towards Maya and jabbing a finger at her, and all of a sudden I'm the background character, like I've always been in my family, and I'm so unused to it here that I feel like a spoiled kid when the evil emotions rush to my head, and I clutch my head, which feels like a ton of bricks has been dropped on it, and it hurts, and it hurts, and nobody cares-

"Ezra?!"

Scarlett's voice, clear and fluent.

"Ezra!"

Kassidy's voice, crackling and hissed.

"Ezra!"

Maya's voice, sounding exactly like a plate being dropped on the floor. Wait, _what_?

I look up to see that they never really called my name, they're still too focused on Maya- Scarlett was a rush of water, poured into the sink by an Avox. Kassidy's was the bacon, blackening and burning on the pan. Maya's was the plate, dropped on the stone floor.

Nobody cared about me. They were too wrapped up in Maya's business.

Feeling needy and selfish, I tug on the sleeve of Scarlett's grey caftan. "S-Scarlett?"

She turns to me, watery brown eyes suddenly filled with exasperation. "Not now, Ezra, _please_," she spits out. "Stop being a baby, there are bigger matters to deal with here!"

Rejected, thrown around, all-around angry, my hands curl up into hard, tight fists.

When one of them connects with Scarlett's jaw, creating a sickening cracking sound, I even shock myself. I stand back, feeling like a ghost as Kassidy and Maya stop jabbing at each other and gaping at Scarlett instead. Two Avoxes rush to the pantry, where the medical supplies are located, and bonk heads on the way.

I take messy steps backward. "I-I'm sorry," I stammer out, hands shaking. "I really didn't mean… honestly, Scarlett, I'm so sorry…"

My mentor turns to me, teeth chattering with either pain or rage. Her eyes are watering with tears of betrayal. Her face is inflamed already.

And then she howls.

"_Aaaaaauuugggghhhhh!"_

**Juno Verdet, District Four**

"_Aaaaaauuuugghhhhh!"_

Letting loose a short shriek of my own to follow the first, tumbling off the side of my bed, and slamming my head on the bedside table, I groan in slight anger. Who screamed? It was too manly to be Merritt.

I'm _kidding_.

I open my door with a sweeping motion, revealing a frazzled-looking Nuke rushing towards Annie's bedroom, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open slightly. I follow him, yawning in my silky turquoise pajama bottoms and grey sweatshirt. Not long after, I hear Merritt plodding down the hall after us.

"Annie? Who screamed?"

"N-N-Nuke!" Annie's bottom lip trembles as she points towards her bureau. "Look!"

Nuke follows her gaze to the furniture, where a single drawer is tugged out so that it droops towards the floor, nearly out of its sockets. It looks like there's been a raid… but how?

"What happened?" I exclaim, rushing to the said drawer. I delicately pluck a silver anklet out, where it catches light from the window with its curtains thrown back.

Annie sniffles. "It must have happened sometime last night, but I don't remember anything too out of the ordinary. I was just lying in bed, dreaming about my father and his habits…"

She trails off, staring tearfully at us three when suddenly Nuke's eyes fall upon his golden watch. "Oh, darn it, you two! It's growing late, we'd better march down to the training center, and immediately!"

"But I haven't even had breakfast!" I protest, pulling at my messy braid. "And I'm not in the training outfit, and my hair's a wreck…"

Merritt glares. "Geez, Juno, just slap on a hat. Who cares what you wear? And I thought you were one to care about more than physical appearances."

"I do," I insist, scurrying to the kitchen. I grab an orange from the counter. "It's just, I like to make a good impression, and Nuke says that the Gamemakers measure you on more than just your performance!"

"But that's their job, to grade your skills." Merritt frowns.

I roll my eyes, splitting the orange in half and squirting sticky sweet juice all over my front. "They scale you on your altogether stuff, the whole package." I throw a wedge of orange in my mouth and chew the mushy food furiously. " That's why you never see the lice-ridden, dirty little tributes getting tens and elevens."

"They don't have any survival or weaponry skills, Juno." Merritt glares for the second time in a short span of minutes.

"Man, you sure are negative." I throw another wedge in my mouth and bow slightly. "Well, while you 'slap on a hat' and go down dressed in your pristine purple silk pajamas, I'm gonna spend a bit of extra time and actually groom myself, hair and teeth and all."

I leave the scowling boy in the kitchen. In just under eight minutes, I manage to throw on the designated training outfit, still a bit stiff from yesterday, run a brush through my hair and tie it into a high and messy ponytail, and swipe a toothbrush across my pearly whites, making my breath fresh and minty.

Merrittt is already down in the training center by the time I emerge from the elevator. He's chatting it up with Brux and Wraith, his blond hair a bit of a mess but otherwise presentable. I roll my eyes slightly and join the three.

"Morning, Juno," Wraith murmurs quietly.

"Morning, Juno," Brux echoes with a small smile.

"Hey, y'all." I wink at them, casually leaning back in my chair. "It's been a pretty hectic morning, if I do say so myself."

"We know, Merritt told us." Brux shakes his head. "That's crazy. How could your mentor's room have been broken into? Especially with the tip-top Capitol security cameras and Avoxes roaming the places."

"Whoever done it must have been sneaky," I agree, swiveling my gaze around the training area to survey the other tributes.

Carisa and Eidra are nearly sitting in each others' laps, giggling and pointing at the small alliances that have been formed. Eidra whispers something and Carisa lets out a sort of wounded howl that vaguely resembles a laugh.

Meanwhile, the pair from Five and the girl from Nine are animated, talking with bright expressions and wide eyes. Well, the females, anyways. The two girls have their hair in matching braids, each making small talk, while the boy seems to be a slumping zombie with bags under his eyes. The little group of boys from Three, Nine, and Ten are still waking up, nibbling on crackers that they must have snuck downstairs.

Kinton and Haven, the duo from Twelve, are pretty much showing zero emotions. Kinton stares blankly ahead, holding his chin in his hands, elbows resting on the table. Meanwhile, Haven yawns and listlessly fiddles with the buttons on her training suit. Our ex-ally, Soren, and his new friend, Halcyon, are a sight to see- Soren's desperately trying to cheer the sleepy Halcyon up, with bright smiles and excited chatter. Halcyon's dead to it all. The girl from Six and the girl from Eight are like that of Kinton and Haven, each tiredly mumbling to each other.

The last alliance, Shael and Tethys, are each smiling faintly, chattering loudly and rather obnoxiously, sort of putting on a show for the brooding Aspen Northwood and Cole Tenacity, each of the latter slumping with the knowledge that they're alone. Kiera Brennan, also a loner, has her face buried in her hands. And Ellika Mayes? Why, she's scowling about, glaring at every tribute who dares look at her and her bright red hair.

It's kinda fun to watch everybody.

I stare blankly, still drowsy from being awakened so early, until I realize that one of our pack has left us. Carisa sashays out of the room, gaining stares from a couple male tributes and a scoff from Eidra.

"What's up?" I ask her.

"Carisa. She thinks she's all that and a bag of chips, but really she's a big _faker_." Eidra rolls her eyes, smirking. "But you know, let her be what she wants, right?"

This sends a sort of panicked sweat to emerge from my armpits and I sit back, a fake smile plastered to my face. Another secret to add to my box…

Eidra and Carisa are slowly falling out. Let the Games _begin_.

**Eidra Nevett, District Two**

"_Eidra Nevett, District Two."_

My name. I smile easily, sliding out of my chair and offering a beam to the tributes that stare at me. Juno is among them, suddenly quiet. Her gaunt eyes follow me as I walk to the door, confident in my own skin.

"Ta-ta," I mouth to her and the rest of our alliance as I stride into the training room, light and easy on my feet.

Gamemakers stare down at me from an elevated platform. I wave to them, fingers wiggling, and offer up a gracious, angelic, innocent smile. "Hello," I call out, my voice unstrained and clear. "I'm Eidra Nevett, and I'd like to show you all why I am worthy of a ten, eleven, or even a twelve!"

It's tough to contain my bubbling excitement, especially when my hands fall upon my beloved spear. My hands shake, and I have to forcibly whisper, "Calm down, calm down, calm down." This is so exciting!

The first spear that I throw collides with the target, the spearhead buried deep in one of the inner rings. Not quite perfect, but good anyways. I conceal my smile by ducking my head, selecting another spear.

This one hits an outer ring, and vibrates with a sort of aftershock once it's stuck in there. Even worse, but that doesn't daunt my gleefulness by a bit. Rather, I try to up the ante by doing rapid fire. I throw one spear into the target by my dominant hand, shuffle to the right, and then throw another with my left hand.

I can hear murmurs behind me, the Gamemakers mumbling about themselves, and I know that they're either saying good or bad things. There is no neutral. It's just like how, in life, there is only black or white. Grey is unknown.

Pressing my mouth in a determined line and squinting my eyes, I mentally try to prepare myself for victory, just like I've always been destined for.

I exhale, closing my eyes briefly. I grip a spear from a display, hand shaking slightly. From the adrenaline, or the nervousness, or the excitement? There's no way to find out.

My eyelids flutter open, and I peer at the Gamemakers from my long eyelashes, lengthened and volumized previously by my yellow-clad stylist. They're all waiting in anticipation, pressed against a thin glass pane which separates us. One of them taps her wrist, as if she's telling me to hurry up.

I roll my shoulders back, and stride forward with verve and spirit. The spear is warm in my hand.

I inhale. I throw, and then close my eyes.

Hearing a splintering noise that makes my eyes open in shock, a small gasp escapes from my parted lips. But it's not a sad sight that beholds me, but a sight that would make any tribute squeal in joy or cower in fear.

The spear lies directly in the center of the target, if not a bit off to the left.

I try to contain myself, but it's hard not to flash a white, winning smile to the Gamemakers and allow myself a short screech of glee. But I manage by, the Gamemakers giving me either amused looks or interested smirks.

My training session ends all too quickly, but I've managed to get in a bit more spear-throwing and even a little bit of plant identification in, though I botch up on some generic green leaves. It doesn't matter. My weaponry skills will definitely be enough to carry me through to an extravagantly stellar score- at least, I hope so.

I want to exit from where I came from, maybe give a bit of encouragement to Juno and the others, but two sullen-looking Avoxes usher me into an elevator. I pout out at them from it, but they merely sigh and turn away.

I expect for Helios and Hestia to be bouncing off the walls, begging for answers and details from my training session, but nothing happens. Hestia merely looks up from a hug mug of coffee and smiles softly, while Helios is passed out on the couch, mouth open and looking unappealing. Wraith sits next to Hestia, looking inquisitively over a Capitol newspaper.

"Well?" I cock my head slightly and rest my hand on my hip. "Don't you guys want to know what I did in private training?"

"I excelled," Wraith says.

I smile dryly. Good for him. "Well, Hestia, Helios, you, and I can all discuss them as a team. That would be fun, yeah?" I feel like I'm talking to a child.

The pale guy shrugs. "I already told Hestia what I did. Sliced a couple dummies, for the most part."

"Yeah, that's what I did, too-" I begin.

"Then you wouldn't need to tell us anything more, would you?" Wraith interrupts rudely, smiling darkly.

I turn away, suddenly not so eager to share my training session with them. If I'm not going to be appreciated for the decent human that I am – because I know I'm special, but it's not like I'm a queen or something – than why stay with the people that will only drag me down?

Why feed them the fuel they need for their fires of indifference?

**Halcyon Chae, District Six**

Soren's gone. He was the first one out. I'm sitting by Aria, now, and her ally, who is positively outside of herself with anxiety. Her chewed-up fingernails are legitimately scattered on the table, looking nubbly and disgusting, and the girl herself is paler than the moon.

"W-What if I mess up?" Cayley chatters away, brown eyes darting about the room. They meet Cade Bennett's, and she looks away quickly, inhaling sharply. "This is gonna determine my entire future with sponsors, you know, Aria."

Aria gives a little sigh and writes something down. _Not true._

"Yes, it _does_!" Cayley brushes Aria's words off and gets up from her feet, quick to stalk around the room and glare at anybody who sends her a questioning look.

Aria frowns, her pencil etching tiny symbols across the creamy white of the notepad. _She's a monster to work with_. She considers this, then crosses it out and rewrites, _She can be a pain at times._

I snort. "I have one, too." I shake my head. "Soren came up to me, practically on his knees for an alliance. And who am I to deny him the pleasure of my friendship?" I laugh wryly to let her know I'm joking, after which she gives a pained sort of wheeze.

A name is called. Not mine, not yet.

I watch as Maya Verone emerges from the company of Maysa Barric to get to the door. She pauses for a moment, glancing back at everybody. Her eyes meet mine, glittering and dark. A small smile is offered by her, sphinxlike and mysterious. She leaves.

"I suppose I'm up next," I say nonchalantly, lacing my fingers together and plopping my hands on the table. "What do you think I should do, Aria? Maybe chuck some spears, or 'accidentally' poison myself?"

Aria's lips pucker, and she holds up her notepad, already having written something down. _Do what you're good at, Halcyon._

I smile grimly. What am I good at? That Maya girl, who just left, she's celestial at acrobatics and the sort. Aria's excellent at dabbling with poisons, as is the gaunt redhead from Eleven. Even little Griff Forden has found his niche with the wires. And where do I stand? Uneven, on the brink of destruction.

For the majority my life I've felt like a failure, ever since my brother died. It only continues here. There is no escape. I was deluded when I thought that the Capitol would offer a reprieve from my depressing life.

News flash. It doesn't.

The minutes drag on. My name is called, and Aria nudges my elbow, scribbling down two simple words. _Good luck_.

"Thanks," I reply loudly, drawing the attention of most of the remaining tributes, all except for Cayley, who's still pacing the room.

I stride to the door, not stopping to look back at anybody or smile civilly. Instead, I throw open the door and march into the training center, staring at the Gamemakers with an unhappy look on my face.

One with black and blue hair hoots at me. "Get on with it!"

I shake my head slightly, moving over to the first station I see- knot-tying. I remember I dabbled with this a bit in training, while Soren jabbered on and one endlessly about himself and his insecurities and doubts.

Picking up a thin taupe rope, I start mindlessly tying a simple knot, one that can create a trap with ease and finesse, though it may sometimes be ineffective. I smile unconsciously to myself, realizing that I have more knowledge stored up than I give myself credit for.

I rise, looping the rope around the neck of a dummy and pulling tight. It tightens, not nearly enough to do much damage, but it sure looks impressive. I glance over to the Gamemakers to find them murmuring amongst themselves.

A good sign?

I move onto the next station, the specialty weapons one. My blowgun sits behind the counter, tucked neatly away where the trainer always put it. Behind it sit three others, but I focus on my special one alone.

Grabbing a fistful of darts and taking them with me, I migrate over to an area packed with dummies, the majority of them either injured or speckled with crimson paint, probably the result of the boisterous Careers. Idiots, thinking that taking down a tribute is as easy as this. I smile, shaking my head and loading my blowgun slowly and surely with a dart.

I press a button on a raised platform, which automatically starts moving the dummies along from guided rails, side to side and front to back. One starts coming at me and I duck out of the way, rolling neatly with my blowgun tucked tightly to my torso. Once I'm out of its way, I exhale with all my breath into the spout of it, propelling the dart forward and just missing its shoulder.

Jumping to my feet, I reload, running from the oncoming dummy. Once that process is done, I whip around, exhale, propel the dart forward. This time, it makes contact with the collarbone- or at least, where a human's collarbone would be. Good, good.

The rest of my training session is spent fooling around with the blowgun and dummies, eventually bringing my dummy kill-count to two once I'm finished. A few Gamemakers nod at me as I walk into an elevator, but I don't reply in like. I feel like glaring at them for something, but I'm not sure what.

The insides of the District Six living quarters are a welcome sight. Gingham and Dalton greet me friendlily, each beaming. Surprising, especially for Gingham, who's a cynical monster most of the time.

"Hello," I say cautiously.

"Halcyon, how did it go?" Gingham's smile – now I know that it was forced – slides right off her face and she stares at me intensely. "How do you think you did? Was it hard? Easy? Tell me everything."

I shrug casually, dropping onto a plush armchair and relaxing. "You know what, Gingham? …I think I'll let my score speak for itself."

She looks suddenly outraged.

**Kiera Brennan, District Eleven**

Cole disappears with a cryptic smile and silent wave, and I'm left with the alliance from Twelve. They both stare at me with wide eyes and awed expressions.

"You screamed at the Reaping," the blond girl says conversationally.

"We noticed you in particular," the baby-faced guy says, an echo of her. His voice is soft, not raspy.

I fidget. "Well, thanks," I respond, a bit bashful. "It was a brisk thing… I didn't really notice it… but thanks, I suppose."

"Are you strong?" the boy asks.

I shrug. This feels like an interrogation, not a simple friendly conversation. "I suppose so."

"What are your strengths, then?" The girl raises an eyebrow quizzically. When my eyebrows lower in confusion, she quickly backs off, merely adding on, "I'm just curious, you know. Don't answer if you don't want to."

I hum for a moment, sizing them up. This might be my last chance to gain an alliance, and if it is, I better act quickly. Cole's been gone for a little under a minute, and if I only have a couple of those left, my words had best been chosen carefully. "No, I don't mind," I say, trying to keep my voice light. "I'm good at poisons. What about you?"

"We're pretty well-rounded," the boy declares proudly. "Haven can really pack a punch, but she's tough, too. I'm just along for the ride."

"Don't be so modest." The girl actually sounds annoyed. "You're great at throwing knives, don't deny it. We both are, actually, and we have our plant identification skills down pat. Plus, our mentor's been training us how to work the crowd, so even if we botch this thing, hopefully we can ace the interviews."

I feel suddenly unprepared for this conversation. I'm good at poisons, and that's basically it, while these guys have everything mastered. They're perfect. I'm not.

"That's great," I murmur, turning away. I can't ally with them. They're too good for me.

"We're not done with you yet!" The boy laughs, placing a hand on my shoulder to turn me around. I frown, facing him.

"Well, what more could you possibly need?"

"We've been talking all this time about another ally," he says, eyes glittering.

"And then we thought of you, how we'd have you all alone at this exact time," the blond girl adds onto his sentence. She offers a forced smile. "What about it, Kiera?"

I stammer words that make no sense for a bit before saying something intelligible. "What do you want me to say?"

"A yes would be nice," says the boy, grinning.

"Or say no." The girl scowls. "I'm just doing this for Kinton… it's all the same to me."

I slump down slightly, a pout playing on my thin lips and questions running through my head. Should I say yes? An alliance will be there to pick me up when I fall. But it could also be my downfall.

They could betray me. The only problem I have with proving that true, is that they both look younger than me, and they both have expressions of hope etched into their faces, even the scowling blond, who obviously tries to put up a tough front. She's failing, by the way.

I don't think they'd betray me.

But I'd only drag them down, wouldn't I?

The blond girl taps her foot impatiently, folding her arms and glaring. "If you could hurry with your reply, yeah, that would be great. You have basically a couple more minutes before you have to go, you know, and after that, I doubt we'll be seeing much of each other."

I have to make my choice, and fast. I nibble at my lip, silently praying that Cole asks for more training session time so I can have more time to decide, but at the same time, I know that he won't because he's so quiet all the time.

"Um…" I twirl a lock of thin red hair around my slender, long finger, peering from under my lashes at the hopeful duo. "Sure."

The girl lets out a breath. The boy can't seem to stop grinning. "Excellent," he manages to speak out. "Just excellent, we'll do great in the arena, Kiera!"

"By the way, I'm Haven," says the grouchy blond.

"And I'm Kinton." The dark-haired boy beams, his eyes blinking twice as fast with excitement. "Sorry for such the late notice, Kiera, but we needed the time-"

"_Kiera Brennan?"_

Looking bewilderedly at the speaker, I rise slowly from my chair. Now a new sort of panic is bubbling up in my stomach, like acid consuming me. It's like a spirit that has crawled down my throat wants to reemerge.

"Good luck out there, Kiera." Kinton smiles bravely. "Make us proud, alright?"

I don't say a word, simply stare about the otherwise empty room and then slip past the door into the humongous training gymnasium. Instead of being flocked with trainers, tributes, and Avoxes, it's quiet and still. Well, except for the stand that contains the Gamemakers; they're chattering about, feasting off of pretentious drinks and lavish foods that I can smell from here. They smell wonderful.

I slowly move over to the poison station and start mashing up some vervain root, pour some water into a beaker. But I can't fight back the bubbling sensation creeping up my throat.

And suddenly, a minute or so later, when I'm mixing some sickly-sweet smelling lotus into the mixture, my belly leaps, leaps, and suddenly my breakfast is on the ground in the form of acidic bile.

I convulse, hand over my mouth and knees pinned to the ground. The Gamemakers chatter in spooked tones, each pair of eyes trained on me. I stare at a man with yellow feathers for hair, his black eyes huge and amused.

Avoxes flock from different doors behind the stations and clean the mess up, draw me an elevator. One even escorts me up to my floor, as if I can't do it myself. I may be sick, but I'm not so sick that my ghosts can't be summoned to carry me up. _Honestly_.

And when Hudson's hopeful face pops at the edge of my vision, eagerly asking me, "_How'd it go, Kiera? Do you think you got an okay score?",_ it's all I can do to not sob.

**Kinton Machek, District Twelve**

To say that I'm ecstatic is an understatement.

But I can smell the vomit in the air, see the stain on the bluish mat, no matter how many tries the Avoxes took to attempt to scrub it out. It's there, in a pale shadow. They can't disguise the fact that yes, some of the tributes get so worked up over this silly score that they hurl.

Was it Kiera? I shake my head slightly. She's too strong to puke over something as silly as this. But then again, she _did_ seem very worked up over this…

Nah, it wasn't her.

I stride to a spot in front of the Gamemaker's elevated glass platform and offer a shy smile. "Hello," I say, hoping my voice carries. "My name is Kinton Machek, and I'm from District Twelve. Today I would like to show you my plant identification and throwing knife skills." I linger, stammering over something for a moment, before quickly finishing up with "Thank you for your time" and quickly darting over to the plant station.

It takes me just four minutes or so to identify every single plant, with only a couple mistakes. I sneak a glance at the Gamemakers, to find just three or four observing me, the rest tipping their heads back with drinks or food.

I migrate over to the throwing knife station and select five slim, silver knives. I hold them by their smooth brown handles, silently admiring the way the bright, fluorescent lights bounce off of them.

Shuffling over to the dummy area and pressing the button to make them move, I mentally prepare myself for knife throwing. One dummy zooms past me, and without thinking, I plunge the knife into its shoulder, past the hard tanned flesh and into the soft interior.

The next knife finds its home in the abdomen of a dummy who's not moving much, rather sitting and shaking a little. Not too impressive, hitting a sitting duck, but if it raises the dummy kill count, I'm all for it.

Two of the other knives miss by wide shots, and each time, I'm aware of the laughter that the Gamemakers produce, shimmering pearly whites and raucous sounds obvious. I grit my teeth, vowing to myself not to give up. I have limited time left. I have to make this knife-throw be the most brilliant yet.

And it hits a dummy, just not in the spectacular way I had planned - I scout out a dummy moving neither fast nor slow, just at a pace that a regular person would jog. The knife whistles out of my hand and, going handle over blade through the muggy air, it sticks and latches onto the side of the dummy.

The buzzer rings. I am done.

Bowing a bit to the Gamemakers and trotting to an elevator, I slump to the ground as it rises. There's no point in dwelling on my performance when Grey will be pestering me with queries all night.

And just as I predict, once I make my way into the expansive living room, there the short woman is, popping up with a suspicious look on her face and asking sarcastically, "Kinton, Kinton, how'd you do? Bringing _glory_ and _honor_, huh?"

"Yeah," I say, dazzling her with a wide grin and throwing myself onto the cushy sofa. "You know, sat in a corner and tied a noose. It's all I can do, right?"

She considers me. "You're being snarky."

"You're right, you know." I offer another grin, this one a bit more sincere and genuine. "Nothing you can do about it, huh?"

"I never said I didn't like a little sarcasm," she comments, perching herself primly on the arm of a grey armchair. "I'm just making an observation."

"While you're observing…" I pause for dramatic effect, tipping my head downwards. "Haven and I may or may not have discovered ourselves a new ally."

"Really?" Grey pops up from her perch, face full of interest and, surprisingly, gratefulness. "Who is he? Or she? I'm not one to judge, after all, just spill!"

"Kiera Brennan," I reply. "and she-"

"Kiera Brennan?" repeats Grey, suddenly not full of the interest she had shown a mere moment ago. She slinks to the grey armchair and balls her little hands into fists. "From District Eleven? With the curly red hair?"

"Yeah, that's her." I nod hesitantly. "Why, Grey? What's wrong?"

"Kiera Brennan." Grey stares at the ground, one eye twitching. She glances up at me. "Why, of all people, did you pick her? There were great tributes this year. Braxton Malory. Cole Tenacity. Maya Verone. Shael Havern. Why, of everybody, did you pick _her_?"

I shrug, knitting my eyebrows. "Um, why not? Honestly, she's good at poisons and she's friendly, too."

Grey sighs, shaking her head and treating me like an idiot. Haven bursts in from the elevator, sweaty and flushed, but Grey doesn't even look at her. Instead, she speaks in a gravelly, solemn voice.

"Kinton, Kiera Brennan is the psychopath of District Eleven," she utters mournfully. "She conducts rituals and believes in ghosts and spirits. She kills animals for no apparent reason. She's unstable, and you just made an ally of her?"

Haven gasps softly, while my cheeks flare up.

"It's not my fault," I counter hotly. "You could have at least told us about her, told us to watch out for her. And how do you know so much about her, anyways?"

"For all we know, you could be lying," Haven pipes up.

"_Everybody_ knows Kiera Brennan!" Grey shouts, hugging her knees. "Every mentor for four years now has been advised to look out for a certain list of unstable tributes, Kinton, and Kiera's at the top of the list!"

I don't believe this. I can't believe this. Instead, I stare at her dumbly, raise one finger up, and silently run to my bedroom.

_Kiera? Of all people?_

**Ellika Mayes, District Three**

"I still don't see why we have to be gathered here, like a family."

I sit, folding my arms over each other and glare at Candor and Xandra. The two exchange an exasperated look and I sort of feel bad for being rude, but I can't help it. It's in my blood.

"We are your family," Xandra says, trying to soothe me. "For now until the arena, at least. You should be grateful that tomorrow is yet another day in the luxury of the Capitol."

"My last day," I grumble, staring at the ground. "And it's just more happy fun time with my stylist and prep team, getting plucked and shaved and slathered all over again. And then I'm supposed to be popped into a dress, hair curled, and thrown out into the spotlight yet again to see our lovely interviewer."

"Hey, don't speak so negatively." Griff pops in, munching on some crackers.

"What do you know, kid? You're like five."

"I know a lot more than you," he counters, raising his eyebrows teasingly. "No, I'm kidding, you are definitely more intelligent than me… but all I'm saying is that at least I'm trying to be happy here, while you… well…" he fades off, waving bluntly at me.

"When did you grow a spine?" I hiss, slumping back into the stiff sofa cushions.

Candor shushes us all, excitedly pointing to the screen. The brand new interviewer, Tess Adrique, sits primly on a rose red stool, dazzling in a short, ruffled, dark plum dress that contrasts her nearly white hair. She smiles uneasily, her small lips perking upwards.

"This year they thought it would be fun to bring in a younger interviewer to carry on Cambria's family name," Candor says in a knowing manner that slightly irks me. "She's only twenty. Look at those chubby cheeks!"

"No signs of plastic surgery on her yet," Xandra observes snootily, leaning towards the screen. Her dark hair falls against her shoulders. "Maybe her nose, though. Too perky for a regular person."

"Welcome," Tess announces in a rich accent, the vowels flowing and the word seeming like a perfectly scripted speech. I exhale, slightly impressed by the Capitol's choice in faculty. Maybe _this_ year we won't get somebody who chuckles manically every four seconds and slaps the tributes on the backs so hard that it leaves a red mark.

"Teal Arben, victor of District One and the latest victor, has joined me to read off the scores," continues Tess, motioning to the lanky boy beside her. That's all he is, really. He can't be too much older than me. "Shall we begin, then?"

She shuffles some papers, and Teal smirks at the camera. On the screen behind her, a picture of a brunette Career with piercing eyes pops up. "District One, Carisa Lenette, with an eight." Tess smiles slightly as Teal nods approvingly. The girl's picture swaps out for a critical-looking one of a pale boy with a long face. "District One, Soren Valen, with a seven."

Teal lets out an earsplitting shriek, obviously relishing in the fact that Tess barks in surprise and clutches her chest, as if her heart's going to plop into her hand at any moment.

"Nice man," I comment.

"Nice _tributes_," Xandra corrects me. "Carisa and Soren, they're both huge threats. Look out for them, okay?"

"They're Careers, of course I will," I snap back. I'm really not in the mood to be bothered. I botched my training session, trying to conduct a huge electrical fire but ultimately creating a tangle of wires and clips. At the end, I tried to cover it up by throwing a match on the thing, which then sparked a fire, but I could tell that the Gamemakers were not impressed.

"District Two," Tess wheezes, a hand blindly scratching at the left side of her chest, "Eidra N-Nevett, ringing in with a ten."

"Yikes," Griff hisses from his spot next to me. "Ten more and she'd be a twenty… and twenties aren't good, they never are."

I roll my eyes, turning my attention back to the screen. The picture of the beaming brunette girl fades into a dark-haired, pale boy with a nervous smile.

"District Two, Wraith Elvery… with an eight." Tess looks up from the papers, the skin under her eyes visibly purple with tiredness. "An impressive score all around for District Two. Congratulations to Eidra and Wraith."

"As if," snorts Griff.

"Would you shut up?" I growl at him. "I'm trying to listen, not get interrupted by a preteen."

"I'm fourteen, thanks for the underestimation," he sniffs.

I stare at Candor. "Did you teach him new words or what?!"

"There was a gigantic dictionary in the bookshelf over there, he taught me nothing," Griff says, rather happy with himself. "Now hush, you're on."

"District Three, Ellika – um, rather, _Ell_ – Mayes." My picture pops up, red hair vivid and scowl overpowering. I'm proud of that picture. It shows that I'm not afraid to fight, to get my hands dirty. "A score of a three."

I stare at the screen, not sinking into the cushions or frowning just a bit. I glare at the screen, silently hating it and the people behind it. I'm worth more than a three. I'm better than a three.

"Good job, Ell," Xandra says softly from her spot on the ground. She looks up at me with a questioning look, before offering a soft smile.

I barely notice her, instead gazing at the screen as my picture fades into Griff's. He squeals in delight from next to me, taking in his chestnut brown hair and sunny grin, allowing everybody to know what an optimistic nut-job he is.

"District Three, Griff Forden, with a matching three!" Tess reads off, nodding her head to the camera. "And yeah, that rounds up District Three- District Three, with threes for scores, isn't that ironic?"

"I got a … _three_?"

"_I_ got a three."

Though our words are the same, the meanings are different. And we both know that they go deeper than simple scores.

**Braxton Malory, District Nine**

"Well, _this_ is fun," Maysa remarks dryly, hugging her knees. "Two kids, easy bloodbaths. And from a weak district, too."

"People could say that Nine is weak," I counter her with a winsome smile. "But no, we're fighters till the end, and nobody can deny us that, can they?"

"Be quiet," grumps Maysa as little Griff's picture fades into that of the mature, freckled Juno Verdet, a playful smile toying on her lips.

The pale interviewing woman, visibly faltering under the pressure, stammers out, "District Four, Juno Verdet, w-with a ten!"

"_Threat_!" yelps Olivander, thus shocking the both of us and making us jump out of our seats. We shouldn't be doing it, really, not when he's been doing that four times already. I should've known he would have started up at the Career districts again.

"Would you stop that?" Roland growls. "You're scaring them, Olivander."

"D-Dear Rolly-boy, are y-y-you upset?" Olivander buzzes, frenzied eyes locking feverishly with Roland's and quickly averting to the screen. "If it troubles you that m-m-much, I'll stop, yes I will!"

"Thank you," I remark, watching as Juno's picture turns into Merritt's, the blond boy's dashing brown eyes and grim smile popping up instantly.

"District Four, Merritt Cordeau, with a matching ten! Looks like District-"

"_THREAT_!" Olivander screams.

"_WOULD YOU STOP THAT?!" _roars Roland, rising from his seat, only to face a sheepishly giggling Olivander, skin yellow and hands shaking. Maysa and I watch in silent pity and fear as Roland grips Olivander's wrists, murmuring some choice words to the fellow. It's obvious that Olivander's currently unstable. Only Roland holds the power to soothe him.

"District Five, Maya Verone!" I whip my stare back to the screen and watch the picture of the beaming brunette appear, one eyebrow raised teasingly. "A seven!"

"_THREAT_," shrieks Olivander, not deterred by Roland's pleading. I bite my lip, silently praying that he won't suddenly flip moods and become dark and lethal, like he did just an hour ago. It was spooky to watch- storming around with forks in his trembling hands, hissing threats to Maysa and me both.

"Just ignore him," Maysa tells me, her peevish mood suddenly dulled by Olivander's freakiness. Her eyes are wide and brown, and she points to the screen. "Come on. If he's not going to watch, we can."

"Definitely," I say, smiling as the picture of towering Ezra Jefferson appears, a sheepish, gaunt look on his long face.

"District Five, Ezra Jefferson, with a five!" Tess announces, grinning shakily. "A nice round of scores for the both of them, eh?"

Maysa and I both glance over at Olivander, but he only offers us a scary grin as his entire body practically vibrates with energy and his hands cling to Roland's shoulders.

"District Six, Aria Verselis!" On the screen, a pale girl with shimmering black hair and a shy expression. I noticed her at the poison station once or twice, but never really thought to invite her over to my alliance. I guess I was too caught up in making it the trio of younger guys that I forgot to seduce her with my charms. "…With a five to match Ezra's!"

"TH-" Maysa's mentor starts to burst out, but is muffled by Roland sacrificing his own hand by stuffing it inside of Olivander's mouth and getting rewarded by a ferocious chomp. I wince, curling my fingers into fists.

"District Six, Halcyon Chae!" A pale blond boy with equally pale skin appears, offering a sarcastic smile. "A four!"

I grit my teeth as the next few districts appear.

"District Seven, Aspen Northwood!" A plump, dark-haired girl with a shy frown. "A two!"

"District Seven, Brux Redragon!" A guy with sandy hair, offering a cocky grin and an eyebrow lift, like Maya. I remember that he'd joined the Careers. "An _eight_!"

"TH-" This time, I try my best to ignore our frenzied mentor and instead, stare listlessly as District Eight rolls on, revealing Cayley Torrelli in all of her dark-haired, tanned skin glory. She receives a four.

"District Eight, Tethys Acosta, ringing in with a six!" The devilishly smirking boy with a round head leers at me.

And then it's Maysa's picture up there, her deep scowl leaving an imprint on me and her uneasy frown identical to the one she displays now. But I can tell that she's deeply interested and cares about her score. I tell by the way she leans forwards slightly, fingers laced together. And when Tess Adrique blesses her with a five, she lets a shrill laugh go and falls back into the cushions.

I congratulate her heartily, watching as my picture appears, showing me in my fetching glory. My heart thuds, but it barely registers as Tess announces "… ringing in with a five!"

"Congratulations, Braxton," Maysa murmurs, but it's not enough. I want Roland to clap me on the back, beaming. I want Cade and Griff to surround me, regarding me with awe.

It's not enough. It will never be enough.

And all too soon, I'm gone, and there's Shael Havern with her sleek brown hair and wide eyes, grabbing a six for herself to match her ally, Tethys.

The extroverted Cade, with his alert eyes and hand creeping into the picture to wave, coins a meager three for himself, identical to Griff's. Not too bad, and I'm still the leader of the pack. I'm pleased, and silently nod.

Kiera Brennan, with her curly red hair and overly widened eyes, grabs a two.

Cole Tenacity, with a sphinxlike smile and slightly mocking look, is awarded a six for himself, thus bringing honor to his district, where Kiera will have brought distaste.

The neutralized, blond-haired Haven Faye, with pouty lips in her picture, receives a five. Her ally and district partner, Kinton Machek, with his baby face and sloppy hairdo, also matches it with his five.

It's over, then. We all part our separate ways, and Olivander is sedated with a quick injection. But it won't stop me from having a nightmare about him, from tossing and turning in my bed about it.

It won't stop me.

**A/N: The Way I Am by Eminem. **

**Happy holidays, everybody! Yet another chapter of Contrary shall arrive to you on this fine night, yay. Hopefully you find yourself leaving a review to both motivate me and let others know what you're thinking? ;) **

**Hopefully I can shoot out an update before Christmas, so be on the lookout? Next update will be the interviews, so that's a bonus for sure!**

**The blog will soon be updated with training scores, alliances, quotes, and tokens, so that's something to watch out for as well. :)**

**Alliances: Careers, Maya+Maya+Ezra, Braxton+Cade+Griff, Tethys+Shael, Haven+Kinton+Kiera, Halcyon+Soren, Aria+Cayley**

**Loners: Ellika, Aspen, Cole**

**Question Time? You know it!**

**1\. Thoughts on each of these POV's?**

**2\. Favorite parts of the chapter? **

**3\. General thoughts on the training scores?**

**4\. Did anybody surprise you?**

**5\. And the chart, of course!**


	9. Homewrecker Pt One

_**.**_

_**Deception and perfection are wonderful traits.**_

_**One will breed love; the other, hate.**_

**Tess Adrique, Capitol Interviewer, 19**

Smoothing my dress and exhaling shakily, I stare out at the screaming crowd. It's scary to know that in a matter of moments, I'll be out there, waving and presenting the tributes – the very _tributes_! – to these people. It's enough to make any girl queasy.

Some might say that I have a stage presence, my voice rich and smile put together perfectly. But in reality, I'm not that, I'm not any of that. I'm a girl who would much rather stay at home digging into a carton of soft yogurt, staring at the screen as a more extroverted person takes the reigns.

"Hey." The soft voice comes behind me, and I swivel to see, of all people, Hestia Verbana, a mentor for District Two. She smiles softly.

"H-Hestia?" I trip over my words. "I mean, um, Mrs. Verbana? What are you doing here?"

She smiles blankly. Her eyes are vacant. "You can call me Hestia, that's fine," she replies. "I'm here to wish you luck. I know how difficult your first time as an interviewer must feel."

I blink back an emotion and stare at her, into her liquid brown eyes. Is she being honest? "Why would you ever come to wish me good luck?" I ask, trying unsuccessfully to keep the awe out of my voice. "I mean, you must hate me. I'm here to send the k-kids off to their deaths!"

"Shush, Tess," Hestia says soothingly. "You're just a kid yourself. You deserve to live out the rest of your childhood in peace, not be paraded around like an animal." She notices the stress in my eyes. "That's what they're going to do, Tess. They're looking for a show. Can you deliver?"

"N-No, I can't," I stammer, beginning to panic. But she's there, rubbing my shoulder and purring out a new command, sweet as pie.

"When the cameras spotlight you, I want you to smile. Largely. Cheesily. Amazingly. However you want. If you fail to give them what they want…" she trails off, standing up straighter.

"Why are you so concerned about me?" I ask suddenly. It's almost suspicious. Aren't victors supposed to hate Capitol people, from what the ones from Nine and Ten have told me - or, rather, spat at me?

Hestia smiles lightly. "I have children of my own. I know how difficult it is, when you're only small, to present yourself in front of the world." Pain flashes in her eyes.

"Thank you," I say, my long white eyelashes fluttering as I try to blink back actual tears. "I barely know you, and yet, y-you've been so kind to me."

"It's what I do. Now, get out there, make us all smile. Don't let them corrupt you, okay?" Another smile, this one more genuine and less pained.

And all too soon I'm shoved out onto the stage, into the spotlight, and I'm blinking away spots as quickly as I can. "Welcome, Panem!" The words burst free from my lips, and I hurriedly smooth down my shimmering black dress, rushing over to the duo of plush chairs.

"Why beat around the bush when we can get straight to the tributes, am I right? No need for a witty line when we have the actual people, right here!" I know I'm running my mouth off, but it's like I have no control of myself onstage; a more extroverted, knowing person takes over.

"Let's start with Carisa Lenette, shall we?" I beam broadly, motioning to the alcoves where Carisa starts striding out in a tight sapphire blue dress, fluttering way above her knees. Her silvery high heels click against the marble floor, matching the slim silver headband festooned in her brunette hair.

"Hello, Mrs. Adrique," she says in a deadpan voice, to which I respond, "Call me Tess!"

"Alright, then, Tess." Carisa shakes my hand and plops down on the chair, eyes glistening as she waits for my first question.

And just like that, the bar is set. Will I achieve? Or will I fail utterly, to be sent to my execution? Like Hestia said, can I deliver?

_Here we go._

**Carisa Lenette, District One**

"What went through your mind at the Reaping, Carisa?"

I smile lightly, trying not to relive the memories. "I thought that I'd try and win for myself, my family, and of course, my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Tess's voice picks up, presumably with interest. "What's his name? What's he like?"

"Hollis," I reply slickly, sticking my nose in the air. "He's fully supportive of my volunteering, and he knows that it's something I need to do. Problem?"

"Problem? Definitely not," she says, voice now on edge and tense. Ooh, she's easy to break down. "Care to tell me about your dramatic show, with your little pal Soren, there?"

I stifle an indignant growl, instead, concealing it with a stiff smile. "He's not my pal, will never be. There's nothing more to say about him. He's just a stupid stalker who can't stop until he gets his way. _Nothing_ _more to say_," I repeat.

Tess nods slightly, drumming her fingers on her leg. "Really," she murmurs. "It sure seemed like there's more to say, doesn't there? Or is there something that you're hiding from us, Carisa?"

Though I realize fully that I could milk this, making Soren appear as more than a simple person from my past, make this to my advantage, I don't. I don't because it's not about him, it's about me. And if Tess doesn't understand that, well, then it's her own bloody fault.

I grin stiffly. "It's not about _him_, Tess," I tell her in an almost mocking voice that proves I'm more intelligent than this preteen who was shoved on the stage to interview me.

"Of course not," Tess replies smoothly, calmly, "though I wonder why you're being so secretive, Carisa…"

Tossing my hair back, the words flow from my mouth easily, my temper getting the best of me. "Cork it."

**Soren Valen, District One**

Carisa flounces off the stage, cheeks flushed and expression angry. She passes me, scowls, and gives me a threatening push, which makes my body collapse to the ground, onto the hard, shimmering black stone, just as Tess hollers out, "Soren Valen, everybody, the _dashing_ fellow from One!"

I scramble to my feet, ignoring the confused expressions of Eidra and Wraith behind me, and dash onto the stage, wiping off the knees of my black slacks as I go along. They're paired with a simple brick-red shirt and a nice fat black tie, rounding out my look.

"Soren!" Tess says happily, sitting down and beckoning for me to follow. "How are you on this fine night?"

"Can't be better," I grit my teeth, nodding to her.

"Excellent," she gurgles, not grabbing my sarcasm. "Let's get down to business, huh? You saw Carisa's response to your show at the Reaping- what's your side of the story, then?"

I furrow my brow, lacing my fingers together. "To be honest, I actually sort of regret it now," I lie for the cameras, hoping that a not-so-creepy angle will make me more desirable. "Um, Carisa's proven nothing except that she can't handle attention and pressure. Her interview showed that."

It's like a raw slap to my skin, to diss her like this.

"Really!" Tess looks surprised. "What's your relationship with her?"

I pause for a moment – what _are_ we, me and Carisa?

"I suppose," I begin slowly, dreading the words to come. "that, maybe, we're ex-lovers… a relationship turned sour with time. And, once again, Carisa couldn't handle that. All I was trying to do… all I _ever_ was trying to do…"

"Yes?" prods Tess.

"I only wanted to protect her."

**Eidra Nevett, District Two**

After a tearful Soren brushes by me, fluttering the loose skirt of my otherwise skintight red dress, I turn to Wraith, smirking slightly. "Carisa's gonna be driven mad by that, you know."

"All the better for you, I suppose," he says coolly.

I frown, about to make a comment when Tess calls out my name with applause following it. Carefully striding out onto the stage, balancing on the wobbly red heels, I offer a beam and a flip of my loose, wavy hair.

"Welcome, Eidra," says Tess warmly, giving me a quick hug. "How's the Capitol's favorite brunette?"

Favorite brunette. That means I'm better than Carisa, Maya Verone, Cayley Torelli, and all the rest of the brown-haired girls. A little ego boost is just what the doctor ordered. I lock my spine, grinning. "Fabulous, thanks!"

"The Capitol – and probably the rest of Panem, too – has been dying to know how you pulled off that ten!" Tess laces her fingers together. "It's not a secret how you're in the top half of your alliance, you know."

"It's not a secret to me, either," I playfully stage-whisper to her. After the audience gives off some chuckles, I flap my hand and shake my head. "No, actually, I think my alliance is quite well-rounded. Getting eights and tens, after all!"

Tess's eyes sparkle. "So you don't think that you're in the upper half of the so-called infamous 'Careers'?"

I'm trapped suddenly. To say yes, and be considered an arrogant, typically cocky tribute? Or say no, and be considered a pathetically insecure girl?

"Well, I certainly don't doubt my abilities," I remark flippantly, "but I also don't wanna appear like a self-absorbed freak, so I believe I'll cut off there, yes?"

And when she laughs, I know my choice has been the correct one.

**Wraith Elvery, District Two**

My vision is hazy, head just a tad dizzy from all the overwhelming sights, sounds, and smells. The crowd roars. It reeks of pretentious perfumes and buttery treats. Behind me, Ellika Mayes fidgets and bluntly glares when I lock eye contact with her.

Eidra struts off the stage, confident in her swagger and herself, obviously. Her fingertips brush across the lapel of my midnight blue tuxedo top and she breathes out. "Good luck!"

I straighten my silky white tie and blink a couple times, rolling my shoulders back as my name is announced.

I swear, every eye in Panem and is on me as I stride out to meet Tess, the girl looking very pale and somewhat younger than me. "Welcome, Wraith," she greets me in a rich tone.

"Hello," I welcome her back, giving her a polite handshake. I'm quick to take my seat, in which the chair is plush and comfortable.

She stares at me for a moment with unwavering, piercing eyes. "You're a bit of a mystery," she murmurs.

I chuckle. "How so? I believe I'm an open book."

She squints slightly. "I'm trying to figure out a good starter for you… How about the unorthodox appearance?"

"I'm pale and not as muscular as I could be, thanks," I counter, waving her jab off easily. "What about yours?"

The audience gives off a collective mutter and small giggles are heard here and there.

Tess's cheeks color and she crosses her arms somewhat defiantly. "We're here for you, are we not?"

"I'd like to believe so."

"Then let's focus on you, hm?" she snipes, nodding briskly. "Um, how about that impressive score, eh?"

And with that final comment, I allow a smile to creep onto my face. Because I know that it means I have her in the palm of my hand. And if I can sway her, who knows what I can do next?

**Ellika Mayes, District Three**

Wraith passes me with a giddy, slightly crazed look on his face, one of somebody who's gone all controlling and domineering. I roll my eyes because, seriously, he looks like a clown with his cheeks all red and his skin all white. If he thinks he's cool, he's wrong, _sorry_ to break it to him.

"Ellika Mayes!"

I watch the pale woman as she flings up an arm, broadly welcoming me to the stage. I clear my throat, tuck a lock of wavy hair behind my ear, smooth down my silky black dress, and carefully walk onto the stage, keeping my chin high.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ell," Tess says immediately as I get within five feet. She beams. "I must admit, you're one of the most interesting tributes this year."

"Where are we gonna start, my hair?" I snap at her, not willing to be the victim like Wraith was temporarily.

She blinks her huge eyes. "N-No, of course not. I was planning on commenting on that show at the Reaping. That walk up was definitely impressive."

"I didn't sob." I roll my eyes, sweat pricking at my palms and armpits. Man, these lights are bright.

"That's right, you didn't. You showed the traits of a true fighter."

A fighter? My ears perk up.

"Well," I say, quite flattered, "I do consider myself to be an unwavering type of person, if that's what you're implying?"

"Most definitely," Tess responds, blinking and nodding. "You, Ellika, show the traits of not just a fighter, but also of a potential victor!"

_Hope_. There is just one word for the sudden warmth that floods my body.

**Griff Forden, District Three**

As Ellika jabbers on excitedly, her grumpy exterior banished, I shove my hands in the roomy pockets of my baggy navy trousers and lean against a wall, trying to remember anything that Candor was telling me earlier.

Be cute? Be alluring? Be intelligent?

I tap the side of my head with a finger, trying to rack my brain and remember.

"Griff, Griff!"

The tall, freckled Career girl behind me taps – well, 'slaps' would be a better word – on my shoulder repeatedly, her glossy pink lips pursed. She looks like a pirate maiden, one that directs a ship. "She's been calling your name for a couple times now, you better get your booty over there!"

"Aye, aye, captain!" I salute her quickly, my legs frantically moving.

Panicked, I dart out onto the stage and promptly trip over my long navy pants.

The interviewing ghostlike lady is quick to help me up, with a warm smile and comforting words. I smile as her hand slips into mine. It's so warm.

"Griff, are you doing alright?" she asks gently, helping me into the tall chair.

"Most definitely," I reply, the kindness of the freckled girl not lost on me. "A pirate maiden just helped me, before you did."

The crowd lets out a collective groan, though I am not sure why. Oh, do I still need an interview angle?

Right. I guess I'll be like my dad. _Be mean, cold, and ruthless_. I adopt a stern face and stare bluntly at the pale girl. "Get on with it, madam, or you're not getting any supper tonight!"

She stares at me, gaze unwavering. And this time, when the crowd moans, I'm suddenly not oblivious to why they did.

**Juno Verdet, District Four**

"Poor kid," I mutter. "He's killing himself out there."

"It's his own fault," Merritt says grouchily. "He's a dreamy little kid. He'll be gone in two seconds in the arena."

"Hey, don't say that." I frown, giving him a hearty shove. "You were fourteen once, too."

"But _I_ never thought of redheads as pirate maidens," he growls, looking away.

Griff passes us suddenly, giving me a grim thumbs-up and a weak smile. I want to ask what's wrong, but before I know it, my legs are forcing me onto the stage, the itchy, sparkly golden dress chafing against my thighs.

"It's nice to have you here tonight, Juno," says Tess, gesturing for me to sit down once I've given her a hug.

"Nice to be here, for sure," I reply, nodding at the audience and discreetly trying to pull the skimpy little strap of my dress back onto my shoulder. "Different from Four, in a good way."

"What's your favorite part of the Capitol so far, then?" Tess asks. "The food? The people?"

"Mainly the excitement of going to the Games," I admit, a grin spreading goofily over my face. "I really can't believe it's happening."

"The Games?" Tess's face settles in a giddy expression. "Ah, certainly…"

**Merritt Cordeau, District Four**

The girl behind me stares at me, hands on her scrappy little hips and eyes hardened in concentration.

"What the hell are you looking at?" I snap, feeling irritable.

"Not _much_," she comments with a cheeky smile, hiding a giggle. "Nah, you got great biceps, but that's it."

I fold my arms, hiding my biceps from her. I wish my maroon jacket wasn't quite so tight. "Flattered."

I turn away to her incessant snickering, silently reminding myself that annoying people like her were made to eventually perish. It's not my fault. It's not anybody's. We're all going to die, anyways, so what's the big deal?

With a sigh of contentment, Juno breezes past me, winking and grinning. Not about to wait for the woman – or should I say, teenager? – to call my name, I step onto the platform that leads to the stage and march across.

"Merritt, you seem to be early!" crows Tess.

I nod thickly. "Yes, I think being punctual is important."

"Certainly," Tess remarks. "Why, if you'd stayed back in Four, you could have gotten yourself a fine job working with the-"

"I would never had stayed back in Four," I say quietly. "My destiny? It's here. It's to win. It's not to be an underachiever. I _want_ to achieve."

"Really?" Tess seems sort of frazzled by that answer. "You're certain, that all your life, all you would have done-"

"I was set on volunteering ever since I was young," I answer without letting her finish. "Like I said before, the Games? They're my future. Nothing has ever mattered more to me than these."

Tess stares at me, her lips quivering with an impending smile. "This is what we look for," she says simply. "Somebody who devotes their _life_ to these Games."

**Maya Verone, District Five**

I casually crack my knuckles, wiping my hands on the side of my lacey peach dress. It's a bit pretentious, even for me, and I adore anything fancy, frilly, or smothered in sparkles. Plus, with the skirt of it tighter than anything around my legs, it's definitely going to be hard to walk in.

"Maya Verone, everybody!"

My eyes find Tess, her dark lips quirked into a smile. Without any further ado, I waddle in, trying to balance in the shimmery high heels, and grin as Tess offers me a hug.

"Maya, you've definitely been one to watch," she comments, cutting to the chase. "Do you devote any of your success so far to your district?"

I beam. "Definitely," I reply, playing along. "District Five gave me the perfect childhood to grow up in, and hopefully it'll provide me a great rest of my life, too."

She giggles quietly. "Are you confident that you'll return a victor, and not in a casket?"

I lace my fingers together, watching the lights dance off the reflective surface of my heels. "You know, I don't wanna be cocky or anything, but I do think I have a good chance, actually."

"How so?"

I watch Tess, her alert eyes never wavering from my face. "I'm strong, smart, and I have guts." I shrug. "What more do you need?"

"That's for sure," she says in a soothing sort of voice. "Anybody you're going to be fighting for, Maya?"

I turn to the crowd, my eyes falling upon on what I hope is a camera. "My parkour group," I answer, giving a cheesy smile to the audience in general. "They taught me how to feel."

"Really! Anything else?"

"It's _only_ fair that I should take their advice and let it carry me, right?"

**Ezra Jefferson, District Five**

I watch in silent admiration as Maya struts off the stage, killing it with her pale orange dress and sassy, curly hairdo. She nods at me, still beaming with her flushed cheeks as she walks past. "Good luck!"

Well_, hakuna matata_.

"For our next guest, we have the lovely Ezra Jefferson, who has somehow managed to squirm his way into our hearts, both here and in the districts!"

Was that my cue? I panic slightly, whirling backwards to face little Aria, who stares up at me with glassy eyes. Quickly letting my feet take control of the situation, I allow myself to dash onto the stage, and onto the chair, where Tess laughs, taking my hand.

"A bit eager, now are we?"

"Just terrified of the things to come," I say quickly, shoving up the sleeves of the black button-up. "You know, the Games and all that."

"No worries," Tess says. Her voice is convincing and suave but there's a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "What makes you think you won't be coming home?"

I'm _too_ desperate.

"No reason, r-really," I respond, shakily smiling. "I guess I just need an ego boost."

"Well, ego boost you'll get!" Tess replies, leaning in as if spilling a juicy secret. "I'll let you know, Ezra, that you're a Capitol favorite!"

Capitol favorite? I look at her, bewildered. "Scarlett and Kassidy never told me that."

Tess winks. "Some things are best kept as secrets, now aren't they? But on any rate, I'm positive that you'll do well, Ezra. I have faith in you."

I lean back, closing my eyes briefly. "I'm glad you do, because I sure as hell don't," I say, a bit melancholy. "I just hope to merely get my alliance past the Cornucopia…"

**Aria Verselis, District Six**

Watching as poor Ezra makes a fool out of himself by stumbling over his words and shaking off compliments with vigor, I turn to Halcyon and write something down.

_Do you think he'll be a bloodbath?_

Halcyon shrugs, his eyes vacant. He's probably mentally preparing for his interview. Maybe he doesn't fare so well under stress. Or perhaps he's just apprehensive in general.

Ezra is quick to stride offstage once his interview ends. He hides his face as he comes past, obviously ashamed of his performance.

The pale woman – Tess, is it? – calls out my name.

"Good luck," Halcyon mutters.

I glance down at my outfit – a short, flouncy mustard-yellow dress, slim golden slippers, two identical yellow ribbons adorning my half-up hairstyle, and of course, my beloved red scarf – before calmly walking onto the stage, avoiding Tess's gaze.

"Welcome, little Aria," she says with a smile.

I clench my notebook in one hand, the pencil stub in the other. She can't see them. "H-H-Hi," I whisper faintly, taking a seat.

Tess is undaunted, merely pats me heartily on the back as she sits down. "Where shall we begin with you? Your training score? An alliance? Your mentors? Your life back home?"

"Anywhere," I breathe.

She smiles. "It was a pleasure to see you at the Reaping, so enthusiastic."

I cried. Was it really that unclear? But what the heck, I'll fake it for her sake- for _my_ sake. Sure, I'll be a pawn.

I nod.

Another smile comes, this one slightly uneasy. "Did it happen to find you any allies?"

"Cayley." My breath barely ghosts the air.

"Ah, the lovely Cayley Torelli! Do you think she'll be the type to carry you far, Aria?"

I pause- is Cayley going to go far with me? Or will we both be bloodbaths, faces lost in oblivion?

"_No."_

I speak only the truth.

**Halcyon Chae, District Six**

Aria flounces offstage, still clutching her notepad and pencil. When she passes me, we exchange meager smiles before she steps into the hallway that leads to the elevators.

"You know him as the dashing fellow from Six, but why don't we get to know him? Halcyon Chae, everybody!"

Oh, that's me.

I smooth down the lapels of my bottle green suit jacket, make sure the slim black slacks aren't wrinkled, and that's when I walk onto the stage, leaving a skittish Aspen Northwoods in my midst.

Tess greets me with a kiss on the cheek, and I stiffly stand there until she invites me warmly to have a seat. I stare. She can't be over seventeen.

"Halcyon? You can sit, if you like."

I ungraciously take the chair, leaning forwards a little and staring out listlessly at the audience. They all gaze back, with bated breath. Interesting.

"Halcyon, how have you found the Capitol so far?"

"It's all right," I say.

"And your mentor? Gingham Cleaver's known to be a tough one, huh?"

Glancing at the pale girl for a second, I utter, "She is rather blunt, but I appreciate bluntness."

"Ah, really?" Tess herself leans forward. "And why is that?"

"It lets you know that people know you can handle the rougher side of life." I smile bitterly. "It's definitely something."

"But surely you appreciate people who are kind, too?" Tess blinks her long lashes.

"Not as much," I reply. "I mean, sure, there are the people who somehow manage to get into my heart, and that's good, but it shows weakness. Something that others can easily manipulate for their own good."

It shows weakness, truly.

My past has shown that.

One moment of regret? One split second of fear?

You're dead.

**A/N: Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds. **

**And so we have the first part of interviews; I hope you all are enjoying them so far, they're rather fun to write. :) I may or may not be able to update before Christmas, considering how quickly I'm able to write them, so we'll just see.**

**Oh, and if I don't? Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and have a **_**lovely**_** Kwanza, too!**

**Teen Idle is expected to come out in the New Year, once ASD reaches its top three. Should be when the next chapter of ASD is published, or the one after that, I haven't quite decided on the format yet. Procrastination, writer's block, yadda yadda. :p**

**As always, reviews are like food ;)**

**Questionnnnssss**

**1\. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2\. Favorite and least favorite interview?**

**3\. Favorite tribute? Least favorite? (Of this bunch.)**

**4\. General thoughts?**

**5\. Chart?**


	10. Homewrecker Pt Two

.

_**Instead of love, and trust, and laughter, what you get is happy-never-after.**_

**Aspen Northwood, District Seven**

Sweating, brushing my hands off in a panic on my silky evergreen gown, Tess welcomes me with open arms. I'm shaking so much, I can barely give her a nod.

"Welcome, Aspen," she says with a hardened tone. Her eyes are soft, gentle, docile, but her voice is sour, like she's just sucked a lemon dry.

"It's great to be here," I say, hearing my voice come out crystal clear.

"The Capitol is a spectacular place to be at times, isn't it?" Tess responds with a slight smirk. We sit down. "What have you liked most about being here, then?"

I smile, staring down at my fingernails, painted a glimmering silver color. "I definitely like being pampered," I reply shyly. "It's nice, the massaging bathtubs and the heated blankets and the windows that change your scenery with the press of a button."

Tess nods. "I do enjoy those luxuries myself. If you come back as victor, then, do you think you'll spend much of your winnings on truck like that?"

I hesitate, wondering humbly how to play this. "I think…" I say quietly, stalling for time. "I might splurge on just a couple things… like the scented water bombs, or the little fridge selection panel… but I'd like to spend most of my winnings on my district."

"Patriotic to District Seven, I like it!" Tess offers me a smile, this one seemingly genuine. "Anybody special that you're going to fight for?"

"My family and my girlfriend," I say, blushing under the heat. "Her name is Willow and she's amazing. You might have seen her at the Reaping."

"We did indeed," Tess says. "You were holding her hand, correct?"

"She was keeping me strong."

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

In silence I watch as Aspen makes a fool of herself onstage, blushing and stammering out while trembling in the tiny green dress they've squeezed her into. If I didn't know better, I'd feel sympathetic for her.

_No_. I shake my head slightly, disciplining myself. I will not feel sorry for her. This is a one-man game, one that I'm in to win. For myself, for my cult, for my sisters and brothers. They're waiting for me. They need me.

Aspen walks offstage, knees knocking, and I stride onstage confidently. The slim khakis I'm in swish in sync with each other, and I shrug in the navy blue sweater.

The woman – Tess, is it? – shakes my hand with a plastic smile. "Such a pleasure to have you with us, Brux. You're certainly a wild one, huh?"

"I'd like to think so," I say lightly. "My eight wasn't in vain, was it?"

She looks slightly stricken at my retort, but masks it easily and invites me to have a seat. "It certainly was impressive."

"It was nothing." I shake her compliment off. "Merely a stepping stone for me. I have much greater things in mind, of course, like victory and making my family proud." I silently add in, _and my cult._

"Ah, the usual reasons, hm?" she digs. I can see that she's been turned bitter, from being scorned and mocked and spat at by the previous tributes.

"Yes," I challenge her. "I'd only like to note that there are some people who I definitely won't be winning for."

"Care to name them?"

I hum lightly, resting my hands on my knees and glaring at her. "I'd like to, naturally, get that load off my back, but there's a higher price to pay for relief."

"And what's that?"

I don't reply to that, but the simple answer rings in my head, over and over and over again.

**Cayley Torelli, District Eight**

I bounce on the heels of my slim white slippers as Brux starts sliding offstage in his oversized shoes, a smirk lingering on his lips and a fierce look in his eyes. He pats me lightly on the shoulder, but I can feel his touch through the thin lace of my peach dress.

"Cayley Torelli, everybody!" Tess hollers, her voice sounding stern already.

I start sauntering onto the stage, hair flowing past my shoulders and my perfectly glossed lips quirking upwards. I feel sophisticated, clean, pristine. Nothing can go wrong as long as I'm confident, right?

"The first thing that I personally noticed about you were your eyes," Tess says as soon as I extend my hand for a handshake. She takes it after a lingering moment. "They're so dark, huh?"

I smile mysteriously. "I was born with them," I reply. "A Torelli family jewel. They're prized, to be honest."

"Gorgeous."

I'm quick to speak once there's a hint of silence. "I gotta admit, I'm rather excited for tomorrow. Not dying, obviously, but for the thrills of the arena and the experiences to come. I have confidence in myself and my abilities, that maybe I can win."

"What makes you so sure?"

She sounds unpleasant. "I'm smart," I say, "and I have decent common sense. I may not be able to keep my cool very often, but I have a strong sense of self."

"And you think that _those_ traits will carry you to the finale?"

"Well, yes…" I fumble, crossing my ankles and fidgeting a little under the gleaming spotlights. "They're excellent qualities for a victor to have, don't you think?"

"They're alright," Tess says dismissively.

_Just you wait,_ I think to myself, a familiar fire slowly simmering inside of me as I smile largely. _Tomorrow you'll see what I'm really about. You'll be sorry you were so flippant to me. All of you._

**Tethys Acosta, District Eight**

Marching past Cayley as she files slowly offstage, I offer a dazzling beam to Tess, earning a scanty one in return. "It's an honor to finally meet you," I gush to the pale girl, hugging her with vigor. "The name is Tethys!"

"I knew that much," she counters, but unlike the past few interviews, she sounds curious and intrigued to meet me. "You're an interesting one, you know that?"

I chuckle, taking a seat and crossing my legs. "Why is that?"

"Well, you've gotten yourself a strong ally in Miss Shael Havern, you earned yourself a surprising six in training, you're a Capitol favorite from an outlier district, and yet you're only fourteen!" Tess smiles. "How'd that ever happen?"

"Luck?"

The crowd gives a loud, collective laugh at that. Feeling mildly excited, I offer a playful waggle of my eyebrows before turning back to Tess.

"Luck, indeed," Tess snickers. "Myriad amounts of luck, huh? How'd that happen?"

"Well, I can't say that I have a special lucky clover or rabbit's foot on me," I say in a mock-upset voice, "because I'm afraid I don't have a token, but maybe it's the old noggin that's been helping me."

"I'm _sure_," purrs Tess. "Any dark secrets hidden in that brain of yours, Tethys?"

I pause slightly – to build a case off of this or to simply brush it off, painting myself in a brighter light?

"Endless secrets," I whisper for effect. "Some so terrible, you'd shiver when I told you them."

As Tess offers the expected shocked expression, I sit back, and watch as I collect the entire region of Panem into the palm of my hand.

**Maysa Barric, District Nine**

Smoothing down the mint-green and khaki pantsuit they've put me in, I fiddle with the end of my side braid, which is ridiculously teased with hairspray so it's nearly solid right now.

I'd like not to admit it, but I'm a little stressed.

"Maysa Barric, everybody, the stone-cold tribute from District Nine!"

I pass Tethys on my way to the stage, a smile wavering on my lips. "Hello," I say lightly to Tess. Without an embrace or a handshake, we sit down. It's better that way.

"It's nice to have you here, Maysa," she greets me.

"Thanks," I reply, not giving her a compliment in return. Instead, I stare out blankly at the audience, my heart thumping erratically.

"What do you think will be the first thing that you do tomorrow when the buzzer ticks down?"

I shrug slightly. "Find my allies. Try not to be brutally murdered, you know?"

A small smile creeps onto her face. "I like your spunk. How was life back home with that attitude, then?"

I fiddle with a fold of my jacket. "I wasn't too appreciated," I bite back bitterly, "but you know, I got by. I wasn't always like this."

"What made you so sour, then?" Now Tess is quite interested. Her eyes are wide, beseeching.

"As much as I would like to spill my guts out in front of all of Panem, I'm afraid that the clock's ticking down as we speak." I smile grimly. "I'll just say this- when you lose something that's the only thing keeping you happy, well… let's just say that you're not so happy anymore."

**Braxton Malory, District Nine**

"Such a good time to have you here, Braxton, when you're young and in your prime!"

Tess has visibly cheered up since Maysa. It's a bit odd to see how quickly her attitude has brightened up.

But it won't stop me from putting on a fabulous show, anyways.

"It's fantastic to be here, in my prime, as you say." I cock my head, offer a wink. "So many nice people here. The ladies, especially."

Tess winks right back. "Any lady at home that's waiting for you, Braxton? Surely a dashing boy like you has got ten or twenty ladies just hanging on his arm."

My beam never wavering, I shake my head. "Nobody too important- while I'm still youthful and charming I'd like to spend time with my family and best friends, instead."

"Isn't _that_ sweet," Tess marvels. "Now, a little birdie has told me that you have some close relations to the mayor, actually. Care to emphasize on that?"

"He's my grandfather," I say, shrugging sweetly. "It's never seemed like that, though… it's always just been him, old Gramps. And I love him to death."

"Aw, 'Old Gramps'," she echoes, swiveling to the crowd. "Who doesn't love a boy who can garner such love for his grandparent even in the toughest of times!"

"What do you mean?" My innocent, endearing façade is suddenly wavered. "The toughest of times? What is going on?"

Tess shakes her head slightly. "Loyalties to the Capitol have been severed," she speaks gravely. "Your grandfather, he's doing everything he can, but…" she catches herself almost immediately and chuckles light-heartedly, almost desperately. "But of course, it'll be hard to do that without his loyal grandson by his side, won't it be?"

And so I chortle with her, placing a winning grin on my mug and wiping away fake tears, but it doesn't shake the ominous feeling that has suddenly taken residence in my chest.

**Shael Havern, District Ten**

"What a _lovely_ dress!"

I smile, inwardly gritting my teeth. I've heard this around twenty times now. It's just a stupid dress, brown and white fur with intricate patterns and fringes, ending somewhere around my ankles with a petite headdress to match. Nothing special, nothing to crow and gawk at. And shouldn't the tribute be put on the pedestal, not the attire?

But just as I'm about to speak my thank-you, Tess is prowling around me like a snake, slinking around its prey. "Matches your skin tone and eyes, to a T," she purrs, tracing her fingers on the sleeves.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

"Your stylist truly is a _diva_," she adds breathily. "Tani, is it?"

"Tani is my stylist, yes," I counter stiffly, arms locked at my sides. "S-She's quite good…"

Tess sits down rather reluctantly, eyes feasting on the native-like ensemble. "So, you're quite an attractive young woman, then. Any admirers at home?"

"No," I respond. "I'm single."

"And ready to _mingle_!" Tess sings out, startling me. "Got your eye on any man – or woman, we don't judge – in this batch of tributes, Shael?"

"Not especially," I say, uncomfortable and too uneasy to be snarky.

"You must have an ally, though, do you not?" Tess smiles wickedly. "Tethys, if I'm correct? Though he's a good three years younger than you."

"Four, actually," I correct her.

Tess sits back, eyebrows raised in expectation, and I find myself flaring up at her flippant, devilish nature.

"_Nothing_ is happening between us," I say, my voice _this close_ to trembling. But for now, it remains strong and clear. "We're friends… allies. But nothing else. Not everything has to be a love story. Not everything has to be a dramatic romance."

I stand up as the buzzer dismisses me. "Not everything has to be all picture-pretty…"

**Cade Bennett, District Ten**

"I'm Cade Bennett, District Ten, thirteen years old, and man, am I proud to represent my district!"

I announce myself, not waiting for Tess to welcome me once Shael leaves. "And this, Panem, is the lovely Tess Adrique, the newest interviewer ever to grace the Capitol's stage!"

Tess smiles lightly. "Stop it, you're making me blush," she says simply. She holds out her hand for a handshake. "Looking snazzy tonight, Cade."

I stare down at my shimmering grey and red tuxedo. "Thanks," I respond. "I think it's really shiny, ya know?"

"Very metallic, indeed." Tess sits down, and I follow suit. "Now, I'm not one to stall around. Let's jump right in. Tell me, what's going to be your strategy for the arena, Cade?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Braxton, Griff, and I already have a strategy planned out for the bloodbath, but I'm afraid I'll have to keep that under lock and key," I say playfully. "But you guys will be surprised, I know it. Everybody underestimates us littler kids. They don't know that we're as much threats as the older tributes."

"You three are going to surprise us, are you?" Tess says softly, sadly.

"Most definitely." I smile, my eyes falling on a camera. It reminds me that this is my portal to the outside world, to Winston and Ma and Pa and Carlie and Jasper, and even beautiful Magnolia, everybody back on the ranch. "Hey, do you mind if I give a little shoutout to my family back home?"

"Not at all." Tess gestures to the camera. "Shoot."

I prepare myself mentally before I speak. "I just want to say to everybody back home, you know who you are, that I'll try to win. For you guys. Because, even though I don't show it much… I love y'all."

**Kiera Brennan, District Eleven**

Fluttering my shimmering white dress and holding my breath as Tess gives me a hug, I take a seat.

"I'm wondering how to play you," Tess wonders aloud. "You're a wild one, that's for sure, demonstrated by that display at the Reaping. What was that jibber-jabber that you were yelling about, about the truth?"

"Um, that my visions came true." I blanche slightly. I should be used to being called out on my unnatural actions, but it hasn't settled in. Especially not here. "Rather, the spirits that foretold them, they were right."

"Spirits?" Tess shakes her head slightly, eyes focused completely on me. "What sort of spirits?"

"Ghosts and such, you know." I try to play it cool and focus on my nails, done up neatly with white polish that glimmers in the light. "I can, um, contact the dead."

Tess's face turns towards the audience. No doubt she's looking confused. "How can you contact them, exactly?"

"It's not really a process you can describe," I say. " First, you have to conduct all sorts of experiments with potions and the sort. Then comes the part that's hard to explain. You sort of settle yourself peacefully, into a state of dreaming, and thoughts – the spirits' thoughts – start trickling into your mind."

"How do you know they aren't your own?" Tess frowns.

"You just… know." I sigh. "I wish I could tell you all better, but for people who can't see, it's difficult. I-I'm sorry."

_Even now_, I muse silently. _The spirits were right. All the nonbelievers in the crowd, they're gawping and they will go down… _

_But those who do believe, they will rise. _

**Cole Tenacity, District Eleven**

"Welcome, welcome, Cole!" Tess nearly shouts, already flustered from Kiera's otherworldly interview. Her cheeks are bright red. "How are you doing tonight?!"

I smile lightly and nod. "Fine, yourself?"

Giggling a little and shoving my shoulder good-naturedly, she says, "I'm wonderful, Cole, but we're here to talk about you, naturally!"

"Talk away, then."

Tess takes a seat, and I follow suit. "You're tricky," she says. "You've given us almost nothing to talk about. You're quiet, stocky, unmentionable, and yet you got a decent score for an outlier tribute – especially District Eleven. Care to comment?"

I shrug.

"Nothing? At all?"

I shake my head.

Tess tucks a lock of hair behind her head and shrugs a little, as if to reassure herself. "Well, that's fine, not everybody's got a chatterbox attached to their throat," she mutters. "So, Cole, how have you been getting along with Kiera?"

"We're cool."

"Any juicy stories to tell us regarding you two? Maybe even your mentor, Hudson?"

"We eat dinner together nightly."

"Is that it?"

"Yes, Tess."

Tess flutters her eyelashes, somewhat exasperatedly, I can tell. "Let's talk about that training score, then, huh? You got a six, something that was touched by only a couple others. What did you do to achieve such a number, Cole?"

"I threw a spear a couple times. I lifted some weights. I was respectful."

"We do like a man with manners, don't we!" marvels Tess, her hand snaking its way up my arm.

"Okay," I say.

I can almost hear Tess's ego shattering into crystalline pieces.

**Haven Faye, District Twelve**

"The dude is blowing his interview," I murmur as I watch Cole nod for the umpteenth time. "He's not even handsome, so the strong, silent guy thing doesn't really work."

"You're one to talk," Kinton says playfully, and when I shoot him a look, he immediately whimpers out a sorry.

"I just wish she'd hurry _up_." I toss a lock of stringy blond hair over a shoulder. "My legs are freezing in this dress. And pink is not my color."

"Do you really think that yellow is mine?" Kinton gestures to the mustard-colored tuxedo he's clad in. "I hate this just as much as you, trust me!"

"Doubt it," I grumble as Tess Adrique, the pale lady with the freaky face, calls out my name.

I stride onstage, getting hit full blast by wave after wave of screaming Capitol support. Staggering to the chair to shake Tess's ice-cold hand, I offer up a skimpy smile.

"Haven Faye!" Tess screeches out. "What a pleasure to meet you!"

"Yeah, it's sugarplums and rainbows from this perspective, too," I call out, blindly clawing for a grip on my chair.

"How's the Capitol been treating you, Haven? It's certainly been interesting to watch your journey evolve since the Reaping!"

"Lots of food," I say loudly. "And Grey's had her quirks, too. Kinton's annoying, but he's my ally, so I guess we're all cool on that front, yeah."

Tess chuckles. "Ah, are you two like brother and sister?"

"You could say that, though I think it's more like dog and master."

The crowd roars in laughter and my smile becomes a bit more genuine. "Who would be the master, then?"

"I'd say that it balances out over time," I reply dryly, not wholely wanting to throw poor, vulnerable Kinton under the bus. I mean, he is my friend… in a way. "Though I'd say I'm more bossy and domineering. It's just how it goes."

I glance to the alcoves and see Kinton. His face, unrecognizable.

I think the expression on his face is neutrality, but it could also be a mask of pain.

**Kinton Machek, District Twelve**

"We've heard Haven's side of the spectrum, Kinton!" Tess grins brightly. "Dog and master, huh? What do you say your relationship is?"

"I think we're merely friends," I croak out, a bit put-off by her blindingly white teeth. "Friends and allies, of course. And district partners!"

"She seemed to think that the balance between you two was uneven. And with Kiera thrown in the mix, just for fun, your alliance truly is a toss-up!" Tess shakes her head. "What are your thoughts on it?"

"I love my alliance. I asked Haven to be allies, and together we asked Kiera. It all works out." I smile. "I think we're a good team, a great one, even."

"I'm sure that you all are, as well." Tess nods. "But more importantly, Kinton, do you think that you, yourself, are victor material?"

"I definitely hope so," I say. "I got a family back home that needs me, plus I kind of want to see my friends a lot more. I miss everybody back in Twelve, but then again, my hope is a little daunted since I am from Twelve."

"It's produced some great victors," Tess responds cautiously, aware that she's treading on flammable, rocky ground. "Haymitch Abernathy, Grey Ray…"

"She always snapped at us not to make fun of her name." I snicker, remembering when I first piped up, '_You're aware that your name rhymes, right?'_.

"Ah, good times with the Dee-Twelve crew!" Tess nods. "But one last question, Kinton… do you honestly believe that you have what it takes? To kill other tributes to pay the price of going home?"

I sit stock-still for a moment, pondering. Do I? Do I have the guts to take others' lives in exchange for my own?

"You know," I say, mulling my words over and over again, "I'll have to get back to you on that one."

**A/N: Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**And so ends interview time. Well, was it all you'd hoped and dreamed for?**

**GUYS THIS IS LEGITIMATELY THE LAST CONTRARY UPDATE THIS YEAR. ISN'T THAT INSANE? I MEAN YOU GUYS AREN'T GONNA GET ANOTHER ONE TILL NEXT YEAR. **

**Lawl the new year comes in like a week so not that long of a wait, oops ;o**

**But seriously, thanks to all you guys for sticking with this story for six long months. Next chapter is the chapter just before the bloodbath, so feel free to mull over da tributes and fangirl (fanboy) while you can !**

**And, as always, I'd be thrilled if you could drop me a review, just to let me know you're still there, even if it's not the questions ;) Every review counts, guys!**

**Happy New Year! :)**

**Question timeeee!**

**1\. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2\. Favorite and least favorite POV?**

**3\. Favorite and least favorite tribute of this bunch?**

**4\. General thoughts?**

**5\. Chart?**


	11. Immortal

**.**

_**I'm forever chasing after time, but everybody dies, dies.  
If I could buy forever at a price, I would buy it twice, twice.**_

**Maysa Barric, District Nine**

"Maysa?..."

Ignoring Braxton and all but ripping the minty jacket off of me, I fling myself onto the couch, staring down Olivander, who for once isn't trembling under an influence. "Tell me what I need to know."

He chortles breathily, rocking back and forth, colliding with the stoic Roland. "W-W-What d-do you want to know, sugar?"

I cringe slightly at the nickname. "You promised that you would go over a good bloodbath strategy with me." I look at him pointedly. "You promised. I need to know, and now."

"Get out a-alive!" he bursts out, content with himself. He dissolves into giggles. "D-D-Don't get in the way of a weapon… or another tribute… and d-d-don't try to run to the Cornucopia…"

"That's _real_ nice advice," I hiss, feeling revolted. I peer over at Roland, who's stirring his cranberry juice with a melancholy expression. "Do you maybe have some words of wisdom for me, Roland?"

He looks at me, bags prominent from under his eyes. "I'd suggest grabbing a couple things from the outskirts and running for the hills… but do what you want to do."

"I'm going to gather up Cade and Griff first, and then Cade will be the one to run in and grab us a backpack," declares Braxton confidently. He offers me a charming smile. "If you want, Maysa, I can help you figure out a strategy for you and your allies?"

"I'm fine on my own without begging help from a fifteen-year-old," I say bitterly. "Besides, Maya's probably got it all down pat… she's strategic, too, you know."

Braxton smirks. "You three really have no clue on what you're going to do tomorrow, do you?"

"Maybe not," I bite back, "but I know that at least I have a cause worth fighting for. And what do you have?"

"Capitol and district support," he says, eyes glinting under the dim lights. "My grandfather is the mayor. My other grandfather, head of the Malory Grain Factories. I'll get so much respect from Nine alone, and I know how to play the crowd…" he trails off, lips pursed annoyingly. "And, um, I'm sorry, but what do _you_ have? A bad attitude and a scowl that just won't quit."

"My scowl can go away," I protest, but my argument is weak. I sigh heavily. "Fine, little boy, you have one minute to prove to me how your strategy for the bloodbath can work, and how I can use it."

Braxton smiles lightly. "I like you, Maysa," he says softly. "I'd help you even if you didn't threaten me."

I flex my fingers as he continues onto a vast, somewhat boring monologue on the pros and cons of running into the midst of everything at the Cornucopia and rather, focus on his last statement. He likes me, would help me even if I wasn't being nasty? But it can't be… nobody _truly_ likes me. I thought I'd made it impossible.

Ever since Zeta, my one and only friend and sister, left us for good, my life was a whirlwind of anger, fear, loathing, and irresponsibility. I grew a hardened shell. I pushed everybody away for fear I'd get hurt again.

I can't let it happen again. I can't grow attached, I can't, I can't, I _can't_.

"Y-You know what, Braxton?" I say loudly, pushing myself off of the sofa, much to poor Braxton's surprise. "I could not care less about your stupid bloodbath strategy." _Lies_. But I have to lie. I can't even let him be nice to me, for fear he'll worm his way into my heart. "Just stop talking to me, and I think we'll be on fine terms."

"But we were just having a nice talk and everything…" He looks crushed.

"We're gonna be slaughtering each other tomorrow, won't we?" I rise, tightly crossing my arms around my chest and glaring down at him. "Who knows, you might be plotting my murder as we speak!"

"I'd never do that!" argues Braxton, coming to his feet and looking more alert than ever. "I like you, Maysa, a lot! You remind me of my sister, Braelin!"

"I don't remind you of anybody," I argue, gritting my teeth and shooting him down.

"Braxton? Maysa? Are you two-"

"Shut up, Roland!" I snap, whipping my head to the side and shooting daggers. "This isn't your beef!"

Braxton's advancing towards me now, eyes filled with genuine concern and worry. His touch on my wrist is gentle. "Maysa, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I snap, "I just think it's stupid for us to act all buddy-buddy when tomorrow, I could kill you, there's nothing stopping me!"

And he stands there, cheeks blazing and eyes filled with sudden tears, penetrating my gaze. "I don't know why you're like this," he says simply. "One minute, you're so nice. You can be funny without even knowing it. But not for long. After that, you're just rude and blunt, and you don't care about anything."

I look at him coldly. "It's not my problem how other people see me, now is it?"

I slink down the hall, storming into my bedroom and locking the door behind me. Instead of sitting on the bed, or moving to the window, I merely stand in front of the door, my eyes staring down at the ground, at the ugly green heels that they made me wear.

It's not my problem if people can't handle my personality, it's theirs. It's not my trouble if people think I'm rude, or blatant, or overly crude. I'm just who I am… it's just the way I am…

Or is it who I'm trying to be?

Am I even myself? Or did I lose myself, six years ago?

**Cole Tenacity, District Eleven**

"So, your interviews were decent."

We're sitting at the table, nibbling on the remnants of dinner. Kiera's attempting to split open a chicken bone – probably to get to the soft marrow inside – and I'm pushing some potatoes around my plate with my spoon. Hudson's long since cleared his plate, while our escort has already gone off to bed.

"I know they were," Kiera drawls, focused on her chicken bone. "I think I did rather well."

"You were the laughingstock of the night." I look at her and frown a little.

"I was not!" She's quick to defend herself, glaring at me with the fury of a pigeon in her eyes. "I answered all of Tess's questions, I mean, and nobody really said anything to me about it afterwards!"

"That's because they were scared." I shrug.

Kiera narrows her eyes and is about to say something – probably a ranting insult – but Hudson cuts her off before a full-blown fight can ignite. "Hush, hush. I happen to think that it could have gone a lot worse, so I'm not complaining, actually."

I roll my eyes. "What's next?"

Hudson cracks his knuckles. "That's for you guys to decide. We can look at recaps of the Reapings or interviews, check over the training scores again, or maybe even look at the Capitol Odds Board."

"Capitol Odds Board? What's that?" Kiera looks up, her chicken bone forgotten.

"I haven't told you yet? Well, it's basically the betting table for the Capitolites to bet on the tribute that they think will make it out alive." Hudson smiles. "Unsurprisingly, the Careers are usually front and center. I happened to be the second-to-first tribute on my Capitol Odds Board, the first one being a bulky, monstrous girl from Five. The Careers that year were very incompetent."

"Wow." I smile for his benefit. That's pretty impressive, actually.

"But I proved them wrong!" crows Hudson, clapping his hands together animatedly. "Would you two like to see it, then?"

"Of course we would," Kiera grins widely, hopping down from her chair and darting to the living room. She plops down on an ottoman near the television, her hands shaking in excitement. I slowly trail after Hudson, who limps a little on his way.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

Hudson grimaces and nods bravely. "I have a prosthetic leg. Not something I like to bring up, usually."

"Which one? And what happened?"

"My right one." Hudson motions for an Avox to come over and he continues. "Just before the finale, there was an accident. I fell off one of the metal spires that our arena was based on. A twenty feet drop. I nearly cracked open my skull, but it was sheer luck that I had received a helmet from a sponsor."

"That's insane."

"Right?" Hudson nods. "Luckily, the other tribute – the boy from Three – was so emaciated and starving and dehydrated from hiding out the entire time that it only took a quick swing of my axe to finish him off, poor soul."

"Do you ever have nightmares?" Kiera joins in the conversation, her eyes filled with interest. They gleam. "About the souls of the ones you've killed, the dead that still roam your mind?"

Hudson blinks. His nose twitches.

"Why would he?" I confront Kiera, defending poor Hudson.

"Because most victors that I've heard of have regrets about their methods of killing," Kiera replies smoothly. "I've talked to Kinton and Haven, and they say that even though Gray seems like a brutal woman on the outside, she cries each and every night."

"That's unfortunate," says my mentor. "Grey's a wonderful woman. She doesn't deserve that."

"So do you?" Kiera prods, moving closer and closer to him. "Do you have nightmares or visions or hallucinations? I'd really like to know, you see, because I think that if would be-"

"Hey, what about the Odds Board, eh?" I chuckle, mainly looking to get Hudson out of this tight spot that he's wedged in. He shoots me a grateful look as the Avox he previously waved over presses a button on the remote, and a huge list colored in blues and greens pops up on the screen.

"Wow," Kiera says, for once at a loss for words.

"Look who's at the top, see," Hudson says, pointing to the screen. "The Careers, mostly. Oh, sure, there's a few Careers that made the lower half of the list, but the majority are right up there."

"Maya Verone's got a pretty good spot, too," Kiera notes.

"She works the crowd well," I comment.

Hudson nods, his face glimmering with appreciation and happiness. "See? You guys are getting it! Those who can really put on a show and get the Capitol to like them, paired with a good performance, get the most sponsors!"

"Look at the poor little boys," Kiera says, blatantly ignoring him and jabbing a finger at the bottom of the list. "Nobody likes them!"

"But look who's dead last," I shoot back.

_Kiera Brennan, 24th._

A small whoosh of air is inhaled by the messy redhead, and her eyes well up with tears of anger. She scowls darkly at me. "At least I'm not a person who's afraid to speak more than five words at a time!" she growls.

I hold up my hands in defense. "Silence is golden!"

"Are you _mocking_ me?" Kiera's on her feet now, fists balled up tightly. She's shaking with anger. "I-I can't take this, Hudson! Everybody's ganging up on me!"

"Calm down!" I plead, suddenly wanting the poor girl to take a load off. "Please."

But no, Kiera has the guts to storm off, shrieking in obvious anger.

There's silence.

Before anything else happens, I look at Hudson. "I think I'm gonna hit the sack, too." I cross my arms and stand up, nodding to him.

"Good, go to bed. Ignore Kiera," he says with a small, dismissive wave. "And remember, tomorrow's arena day…"

**Aspen Northwood, District Seven**

"Aspen, honey? Rise and shine! It's arena day!"

Groaning faintly at the sound of Enna's voice, I swing my legs out of the cozy innards of my nest of blankets and rise, yawning and stretching my sore, tired muscles out.

Enna peeks into my room, blinking her long lashes and offering me a warm smile. "How are you doing this morning, Aspen? Are you scared?"

"Of _course_ I'm scared," I reply, feeling a little testy. I run my fingers through my choppy black hair and move over to her. "I guess I just have to keep a happy outlook on it, though. I have a better chance than some."

"I'd drink to that!" Enna chuckles heartily, ushering me gently into the kitchen. "Come, come, eat something. You'll regret it if you don't."

Brux stares at me with a slight smirk on his face, while Obsidian and Basil are mumbling to each other and swishing their pancakes around pools of syrup. I ignore Brux and take a plate, moving onto it some muffins and a heap of oats. "Good morning, everybody."

"Morning, Asp," burps Obsidian, taking a swig of chocolate milk. "Nervous?"

I frown. "Enna just asked me that."

"What Aspen _means_ to say," Brux starts, furrowing his eyebrows devilishly, "is that she's scared out of her wits… but trying to keep a friendly, amiable front. Isn't that right?"

"Shut up, Brux," I growl.

He lifts his eyebrows mockingly. "Ooh, pussycat has claws!"

"Don't kill each other yet," Basil says gravely. "You'll have plenty of time to do that in the arena… although I'd be pleased as punch if you _didn't_ kill each other. District Seven could do with another victor."

"_I_ promise," I challenge, locking Brux's strangely pale eyes and holding the gaze. "I dunno about my friend over here…"

"We'll be fine," Brux assures Basil with a suave grin. "Anyways, I don't think that she'll make it out of the bloodbath, honestly."

"And we could do with a little less district-partner dissing, too!" moans Basil. "You two are constantly at each others' throats."

"I'm loving it!" roars Obsidian with delight.

I wince as Basil and Obsidian get into yet another one of their brotherly battles, Obsidian targeting the fact that Basil is too prissy and old-fashioned, while Basil shoots back that Obsidian never takes anything seriously. It's enough to unnerve anybody, and the fact that these two are supposed to be the ones to save my guts is even worse.

"Can you two stop fighting for one second to hear me out?" I ask them, exasperated. I stab a spoon into my oats. "I want a little advice for the bloodbath…"

"Stay still and wait for it to be over," Brux advises wisely.

Glaring and thinking some very unkind thoughts, I turn to my mentor. "Please, Basil? I really need help. I don't have any allies, you know, and we never did get to talking about this last night… or anytime, really…"

Basil turns away from a leering Obsidian. "Um, yeah," he says. "I'd think that if you grab a weapon from the outskirts, along with a loaf of bread and some source of water, you'd be fine…"

"But Aspen wants to run into the thick of things," Brux begins, obviously gearing up for yet another tale that ends in my unavoidable death. Ignoring him blatantly, I jam a muffin into my mouth and chew furiously.

"She wants to kill everybody right then and there-"

"_Honestly_, Obsidian, you're a disgrace to our family name-"

"Kids, have you had little chit-chats with your stylists about arena suits-"

"And then she'd grab a mace, yeah, and obsess over who should go down to the finale with her, because obviously Aspen's the best at murdering people-"

"Shut up!" I screech, finally fed up with everything. Instead of stopping completely, as I had expected, only Enna stops and immediately asks me if I'm feeling feverish.

"I'm sick of you lot," I grumble, shoving my plate further onto the table and storming away, not even caring who follows me. Of course the kindred Enna does, but I don't give her my time of day. I stomp into the humongous bathroom inside my bedroom and draw a sink full of warm water so to wash my face.

Sitting on the cool countertop, listlessly grazing my soft cheeks with my fingertips, I gaze sadly at the ground. What will happen today, in just two hours or so?

Will I be already in a hovercraft, stone cold and foaming at the mouth? Will I be racing about a horrific arena, heart fluttering wildly and breath ragged, ambushed by a number of cackling tributes out for my blood? Will I be standing over the limp corpse of somebody, knife in my hand and eyes staring down at the life I took?

It chills me to the bone to consider any of those possibilities.

I splash my hands into the lukewarm water and bring it up to my face, avoiding my own gaze in the mirror. I wish I was back home, where the only real danger was whether I got good grades or not.

I certainly don't want to be here, where there's a maniac directing this whole thing, two useless mentors constantly at each other's throats, and an overly cocky and annoying person who's supposed to be my ready-made ally. Nothing is promising, nothing is for sure.

My life hangs in the balance of twenty-three others. Boisterous Eidra from Two. Slim, innocent Griff from Three. Panicky Ezra from Five. Snarky Haven from Twelve. Any one of these people could be my potential victim, or more likely, killer. It pains me.

Why can't people just live in peace? Why do we go to war? Why do we have fights and fallouts? Can't everybody just grit their teeth, clench their fists, and stick it out?

Why are we all so _cold_?

**Tethys Acosta, District Eight**

The elevator ride speaks volumes.

From the moment I step into the small box, trailed by Cayley and Velvet and Velour, I can see how frail Haven Faye is, how calm Cole Tenacity is, how frantic the mentors are, murmuring last words of advice and kind words of encouragement.

Which reminds me. "Any last words, Velvet?"

Velvet's eyes lock with mine and she shivers inside her thin navy tank top. "Um, I'd really like if you came home," she says in a hushed tone. "You have a fair amount of sponsors, which is stellar for someone of your age. But yet, it's not enough. You need to do something crazy in the arena, Tethys. Something worth sponsoring."

Something worth sponsoring.

That actually makes some sort of sense.

I grin, showing two rows of pearly whites. "Thank you, Velvet. That's helpful."

Her deep brown eyes are still trained on mine. "Do you honestly think that you can do something that big, Tethys?"

I snicker, because it's cute how she doubts me. "Of course I can manage. I'm Tethys Acosta."

"Cockiness will get you nowhere, Tethys," warns Velvet, and there's a resounding ring of truth in her voice. And I know when enough is enough, so I stop talking and watch Kinton Machek as he traces circles onto the palm of his mentor's hand, his lips quivering.

All too soon, the elevator stops with a echoing _thunk_. The doors slide open, and I'm the first one to pop out, eyes grazing over the Training Center hungrily, as if merely looking at the silvery weapons and books packed chock full of useful plant information will be enough to save my skin.

Velvet's gentle guiding hand on my back leads me to a doorway tucked neatly into a small alcove. It stretches into a corridor, and in a messy line, the tributes and mentors and even a couple concerned-looking escorts flock down the hallway. There are no windows, no doors, just one small opening at the very end.

"Tethys, I'm scared," whimpers Cayley at my side, eyebrows drawn together. Her hand finds my elbow and she squeezes.

"It will be alright," I whisper to her, giving a promising smile. "I'll make sure that nothing happens to you… until we get to the arena, that is."

A glare on Velour's part, protectively lacing Cayley's fingers into her own.

"No?" I say, feeling a little lost. "Is humor not appropriate for right now, or… you know what, I'll just shut up right now."

I look away from Cayley's watery eyes and into a bright light, which I soon realize is the opening we're supposed to walk through. And what I thought was a mere opening, is actually a wide doorway, the door swung out so that we can walk through.

Treading confidently and with verve, I swagger outside the doorway and am faced with the spectacle of a lifetime- two ginormous hovercrafts, engines buzzing and lights flashing.

I'm aware of how my mouth drops open, along with Cayley and a couple tributes behind her. But I truly have no words. Are these truly the things that will escort us to the arena? These vehicles are magnificent!

"Tethys, you can go on the one to the left, and Cayley, you to the right." Velour's talking, eyes watering as she nods briskly. "I-I-I usually don't like to get attached to tributes, but this year, um, I couldn't help myself."

"W-We're gonna miss you too, Velour," sniffles Cayley, quick to tears.

I feel their eyes swivel over to me, and I nearly shrug before I catch myself. "Well," I say, testing the waters for how much they can take, "it definitely was a pleasure and an adventure to work with you three… and I think that if one of us comes back alive, then-"

Cayley lets out a loud sob, her eyes blatantly brimming over like a giant waterfall, and I quickly dam my mouth up to prevent any further waterworks from occurring.

"I just want to tell you guys how proud I am of you," Velvet says, smiling sadly down at Cayley and I. "You two have exceeded my expectations and more… and I agree with Tethys, one of you will come back. And you will bring the glory and honor for District Eight, once again."

"Thank you," my trembling district partner whimpers.

"Thanks," I say suavely.

Velvet guides me away from Cayley as to lead me to the hovercraft, but almost instantly, she ducks behind the groups from Districts Four and Five, both having their own mentors giving dreary pep talks to them, and pulls me down with her. Her eyes are frantic and blazing with hope.

"Tethys, I need you to come back," she urges me, frenzied. "Kill, maim, do whatever you need. Don't sacrifice yourself at any cost."

A little shocked by her sudden change in personality, I shift uneasily and respond, "And what brought this upon you?"'

Velvet silently glowers. "I'm trying to help," she jabbers on, seemingly unaffected by my snark. "Now, I don't care if you have to sell your very soul to the devil or lose yourself and everything that you are in that arena. You _have_ to come back."

"Why?" I demand, perhaps a bit too loudly.

The blond boy with a heavy scowl from Four strides over. Merritt Cordeau. "If you two could keep your talking on the hush, that would be great, thanks," he snaps. "Some of us are trying to get last minute advice that could save us. So, thanks."

Velvet and I watch as he strides away. "Arrogant Career fool," she snarls, her eyes full of fire.

"I agree with him," I say, standing up and locking my spine. "I, too, would like to get onto the hovercraft already. The suspense is eating me alive!"

"It's your funeral," grumbles Velvet before remembering how unneeded a joke is at the moment. Her eyes go wide. "But Tethys, please, please, please remember what I told you."

"Duly noted." I offer a smooth grin.

And with that, I slink away.

**Carisa Lenette, District One**

"I want you to be bold," Sheen locks eyes with me. "Do what you need to do, but trust your own judgment. Nobody else can make your decisions for you, but you."

I smile effortlessly and nod. "I got it, Sheen, thank you."

"I have faith in you, Carisa." She nods right back at me. "Don't let me down. I drank only water today in prep for this."

"I got it, Sheen," I say.

"And-"

"I _got_ it," I insist through gritted teeth. "You're being very helpful. Thank you."

"Okay." She stands awkwardly off to the side, gazing at Teal and the rat, who are talking frantically and laughing in high-pitched tones. Obviously Teal's spazzing out over this, poor dear, while the jerk next to him is cracking under the pressure.

"Don't kill yourself over this, Teal," Sheen tells her fellow mentor in a blunt tone. "If he dies, he dies, if he lives, we party. Nothing to lose."

"That's pessimistic," says the idiot with a frown. "You'd lose a child, wouldn't you?"

"Some mentors don't think of their tributes as children," I pipe up icily. "They think of them as acquaintances or pupils."

His frown deepens. "I didn't ask your opinion, Cary, I was just telling Sheen that-"

"Stop, and don't call me that." I stick my nose in the air, a surge of anger coming quickly. How dare he call me a nickname – that infuriating nickname from when we were just wide-eyed kids romping around in overalls and ankle socks – when we're enemies!

I surge towards Soren, ready to jab a fist into his ribs or something, but Teal drags him away, all while Soren is quite literally kicking and shouting that he wants to talk to me one more time. It's disgusting.

"Carisa." Sheen is on my case once again, a scowl prominent. "You need to control your anger towards Soren. In the arena, it's not going to help you win, it will help you get a knife in your back!"

I scoff. "He wouldn't have the guts to even pick up the knife to hurt me."

"You _don't_ know what he is capable of, Carisa." Sheen stares at me, whirling thoughts masked behind her eyes. "For all you know, this could be a façade to get your comfortable with thinking that he's not going to harm you. You're being irresponsible, naïve, and just plain dumb."

"I'm not dumb!" I retort, but the insults dig away at my skin. Irresponsible. Naïve. Dumb.

I know that Soren would never lay a finger on me, not even if I got on my knees and begged him to. He's too kind, literally. When we were kids and he was being bullied, the only reason I stood up for him, instead of all the other masses of underfed, brooding children, was because he always had a kind word to say to everybody, and gave his lunches to the less fortunate.

Well, looks like Kind Soren is gone now, replaced by Scum Soren.

I throw my hair and stride away from Sheen, my feet leading me to the pair of odd Wraith and smirking Eidra. I lace my fingers through Eidra's briefly, feeling the warmth of her hand on mine, and then pull away.

"Is Soren acting out again?" Eidra asks quietly.

I roll my eyes. "Let's not focus on him. Let's just try to get in the same hovercraft so that we can talk more."

"Agreed." Eidra nods, eyes surveying over the masses of tributes, mentors, and escorts.

"I think that we should start planning a bloodbath strategy, maybe just the two of us."

"What about Juno?" Eidra's mouth puckers slightly.

"We can leave her out." I roll my eyes once more. "She's probably kissing up to Brux and Merritt and Wraith, anyways."

"Alright, then." Eidra shrugs. "What should we do in the bloodbath?"

I narrow my eyes. "Let's target the biggest threats first, they'll be easier to get out of the way. The weaklings can be saved for afterwards."

She seems satisfied with that answer. "Who do you classify as the bigger threats?"

I stop to think. She wants specifics, obviously. "The older tributes, like Shael Havern or Cole Tenacity. The ones with small alliances, I think, so it breaks down the majority of them."

"Makes sense," Eidra answers. Just after she utters the words, a dark-skinned man with striking silver tattoos creeping up his neck and a simple grey suit on shouts out through a small megaphone, "Tributes, the female tributes for each district go to the hovercraft on the right. The male tributes for each district will go to the hovercraft on the left."

"We're put together," I say happily, to which Eidra smiles slightly and gives a nod.

"Yay," she says.

We file onto the hovercraft, flanked by the petite girl from Six and her shaking ally and the scowling redhead from Three. The inside of the hovercraft itself is rather simple and dark, chairs lining the walls with straps to belt yourself in.

Once Eidra and I find seats – her next to the plump girl from Seven, myself next to the said redhead – I can't help myself from bubbling over in compliments. "Your hair looks fabulous today, gosh. Capitol shampoos make a difference."

"Do you know how stupid you sound?" snorts the blond chick from Twelve, across from me. She mocks me in a high-pitched tone. " 'Oh my _God_, Eidra, I want your hair. And I'm going to rip up my textbooks and throw them out the window before murdering my own puppy just because I'm not as beautiful as you.'"

"I don't sound like that!" I growl.

Next to me, Eidra smirks lightly, eyes glancing appreciatively over the skeletal girl. "You have to admit, Carisa, she's got some spunk."

"Spunk?" I wrinkle my nose. "That's not spunk, that's idiocy."

I burrow into the seat, scowling at the hateful little girl and wishing with a rotten, terrible hope that she dies first.

**Griff Forden, District Three**

Wedged tightly and safely in between Cade and Braxton, I sigh.

It's not because I'm sad – quite the contrary, I feel kind of energetic and a little happy that I'll finally get to have some fun – but because I loathe waiting. I hate the feeling of apprehension that comes with it, the fact that you don't quite know what will happen next.

"Are you guys nervous?" I ask, meaning in general.

Braxton chuckles, on edge. "I think that even the Careers are a little tense, Griff. Our future's uncertain."

"I'm sure not nervous," Cade announces loudly, eyes darting about as if to see who's listening. "I have complete faith in myself, and in you guys, too!"

His confidence is needed. I smile. "Faith is a pretty name," I say.

"Yes, it is," Braxton responds, his face fallen. It's like whenever I talk, he looks sad. I don't like that.

"Do you like me, Braxton?"

"What?" He looks stunned. "Of course I do, Griff. Otherwise, why would we be allies?"

I giggle. "I dunno," I say, "You just seem sad whenever I talk."

"Harsh reality," Braxton murmurs, obviously not intending for me to hear. Then he looks at me, eyes piercing and wide. "It's just because I'm nervous, Griff, okay? I don't want our alliance to split up, I want us to stay in one spot forever."

"Look, Braxton, I get that," Cade cuts in. "But sometimes change is good, y'know? It helps you remember what's real. It keeps you sane."

"Wise words from somebody younger than me," I say, smirking.

"I'm more smart, so hush," says Cade.

"Change isn't always good, come on," Braxton replies, ignoring the past comments and laughing nervously. "Do you two seriously believe that a little change in our alliance will be good?"

"Not in this alliance!" Cade gasps. "Heck, no! I was just talkin' about your earlier words, how you said you wanted us to stay in one spot forever."

"Forever's a long time," I say dreamily. "Like infinity."

They both give me weird looks before Cade pipes up again. "What I'm saying is, if we all make it out of the bloodbath, hopefully we do, we'll be seasoned and ready, we'll know how to fight, y'know?"

"I get what you're saying," Braxton says slowly. "We'll be more experienced with weapons because most likely, we're gonna get into some fights and get some scrapes thrown in."

"Will we die?" I ask nonchalantly, but it provokes Cade and Braxton both to gawp at me.

"Let's try not to!" Cade laughs nervously.

"That's a done deal," I say flippantly, not really seeing the big deal. "Everybody dies eventually, right?"

"Eventually," Braxton breathes. "We're trying to live life to the fullest, you know."

"Stop," I say, feeling a little overwhelmed. "I think-"

"Time for your trackers, boys!" A short, stubby woman with choppy black hair pops out in front of me, a sing-song tone the most prominent feature about her. "You, the little one at the side."

I watch in mild interest as Cade winces, a thin, silvery needle injecting itself into his thin, pale skin. His breath hitches and his eyes flutter closed. Next to me, Braxton gasps. "Is he dead?"

"He's not dead, don't be so dramatic," hisses the woman in a slithery voice. "He's merely fainted."

"Fainted!" I say loudly, attracting the unwanted and unnecessary attention of Brux Redragon, who's currently sitting in the seat next to Braxton, crossing his legs and observing everything. He drops the chill façade and he leans forward.

"Fainted, you say?" A thin smirk curls up on his lips. His eyes dart over to little Cade and then back to Braxton and I. "He couldn't handle the pressure, could he?"

"Don't be mean," calls Wraith Elvery of Two from across the hovercraft. "He's just a kid, Brux."

"A kid who couldn't take it." Brux sounds self-satisfied, and he sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. "No, I'm not doing anything, Wraith, I just find it hilarious."

"Hilarious…" I taste the word, rolling it over my tongue and feeling the sound wash across me. "That's a really cool word, Brux Redragon!"

"Griff!" Braxton snarls, suddenly panicking. "Have you forgotten? Cade's unconscious!"

"He's gonna wake up in all due time, Braxton." I frown, shaking my head and huddling further into my seat, much like Brux did a few moments ago. "Just calm down."

As Braxton begins breathing faster and faster in obvious apprehension of his turn, I'm calm. Cool as a cucumber, if I do say so myself. Because I know that, most likely, I'm not going to make it out. Those are the odds, and I'm not stupid. I've seen the Capitol Odds board, and I'm one of the lowest.

I just want to be able to safely say that I have lived my life to the fullest… and in my opinion, I have. I've made friends, broken up with friends, made my parents proud, made people smile. I've cried, I've sobbed, I've wailed and pounded my fists. But you know what it really ironic?

None of it matters now.

All that matters is the preparation that I have had in the past few days. Legitimately nothing else is going to be a factor in the arena other than common sense and sheer luck.

Because that's what victors are, aren't they? They're the lucky, those who have gotten by on sheer, raw instinct and dumb luck. Their drive to win might not have been the most strong in their groupings of tributes, but some have defeated the odds and, eventually, come out victorious.

I want to be like them, even if I know that it most likely will get me killed by one stupid mistake. It's because I know I'm not the brightest. I know I'm not the bulkiest, or stockiest, or most fit, or most sly, or most cunning, or even most charming. I can smile, and that's about it.

And do you know what I want to do, in the end?

I want to die with a smile on my face. To prove that even in death, a lifetime of charity can let you free.

**Shael Havern, District Ten**

The hovercraft is silent, and silence is deadly.

I fiddle with the sleeve of my dark long-sleeved top, my eyes dashing bashfully between tributes. Maya Verone to my left and Kiera Brennan to my right are both silent, even though in training, Maya was constantly whooping and yelling and cheering and Kiera had a tendency to screech out her opinion at random times.

If even their voices have been quelled, I know it's bad.

I touch my throat absentmindedly, rubbing the soft skin and feeling the bones underneath it. I honestly haven't used my voice too much during this entire trip. I piped up a bit at dinner, spoke politely to Cade, and was uncomfortable around Tethys, which by the way, I'm still a bit confused on why I allied with such a young person.

It all evens out in the end, though, doesn't it?

"Tracker."

I look up, startled. I've been so lost in my thoughts that I haven't noticed anything going on around me. But now, standing and looking rather bored, in front of me, is a pale blond man with a small silver tray balanced on one hand, a slim syringe in the other.

"What?"

"Tracker," he repeats. He waggles the syringe in one hand. "So we can keep track of you in the arena, tribute."

I nod slowly, comprehending this. "What do you do with it?"

The man looks amused. "I jab this-" he nods to the syringe- "into your forearm."

"Do it," Kiera Brennan breathes from next to me, her breath reeking and eyes wide with some emotion that I'm not sure of. Fear? Interest?

I swallow thickly, holding out my right arm. The man plunges the syringe into my arm, allowing a small trickle of blood to spurt out of my skin. I gasp softly, watching my skin glow a sickly shade of blue.

The syringe is pulled out and the man offers me a small pad of gauze. I accept it, watching woozily as Maya Verone takes the needle without a big protest, just a pinched face when it shoots itself into her skin.

"How do you guys do that?" I wonder aloud in a small voice.

Maya turns to me, eyes twinkling merrily, though they're wet. "You just think of something happier," she says simply. "You don't focus on the shot and it makes it a lot easier, you know."

"Thanks," I whisper, watching her turn away to whisper to her bony ally, Maysa.

The hovercraft dips suddenly, and my stomach jumps. My eyes go wide and I clutch the edges of my seat, nerves on edge and mind in a flurry.

"NO!" Kiera screams from next to me, her face contorted in pain.

I suck in my breath, my nerves shattering and dissolving as the hovercraft dips down even lower. I bite my lip, silently screaming inside my mind. _Don't let us all die…_

But surprisingly, as quickly as it happens, it's over. I peek out from my hands and realize that we're landing, now, the hovercraft buzzing busily and the tributes with me mainly looking frightened.

"We're finally here," Eidra Nevett says to Carisa from One. The two exchange a smile.

Kiera pokes me. "I'm scared," she says. Her eyes are circular like oranges, and just about the same size as well.

"Suck it up," is my reply.

We're escorted by the same dark haired woman who injected us with our trackers. She shoos us out the exit, which is the end of the hovercraft.

We're filed out and downwards into a dark room, the only lights being illuminated by the stairs. I have to squint, and even then, I can barely see the jouncy ponytail of Maya in front of me.

I can barely make out Tethys once I stride down the stairs of the hovercraft, and I have to hug myself to refrain from reaching out to him.

But as quickly as I see him, I'm whisked away so quickly I can barely keep track of where I'm going or who's taking me. Right, right, left, walk, walk, walk, left, right, walk, walk, walk. And by the sounds of anguished cries and shuffling footsteps all around me, the other tributes have been rapidly abducted as well.

"W-Who is this?" I spit out, confused to the maximum.

A door shuts behind me and I can finally regain some sort of vision. Now I can see who it is – my bulky, manly stylist, Rosie. Her dyed jet black and green eyelashes and her pointed nose are protruding from her face in an ugly manner. "Hello, Shael!"

"Hi," I say cautiously, fidgeting. "Why the ruckus? Why abduct us?"

"We're not abducting you, dear," she says flippantly, fiddling with the door of a closet. "We only were told to cover your eyes and soothe you if you panicked while we took you to your capsule rooms."

I look around at the circular room, and the door which no doubt is heavy and cemented down. "Why are we here?"

"This is where you will launch," Rosie says, jabbing a finger at the glass tube arranged in the center of the room. "I have your outfit now. Would you like a shower, dear?"

"Not especially," I reply, lacing my fingers together. "I think my hair is alright… right?"

Rosie glances at me and gives an ugly, dark chuckle before retreating to the side of the room, where there lies a small wardrobe. She retrieves a black bag around the size of myself, from shoulders to feet, and walks over, humming.

"Well? What are you waiting for, child? Get this outfit on!"

Rosie turns away to stare at herself in the mirror while I open the bag and silently gawp at the outfit hidden away inside.

"Are you serious?"

**Wraith Elvery, District Two**

"Are you serious?"

I stare at the baby blue outfit, cringing slightly. I pull it out and wince even more at the hideous color.

"It's lovely," hums my stylist, Effort. She gently whisks the black bag that was previously containing the outfit away and takes a firm grip of the clothes hanger, comparing it to me, examining both the outfit and my body. "I must admit, I was a bit skeptical, but it's surely going to be great."

"It's blue," I protest. "Baby blue. I'll look like a fool."

"Then that means all of the other males are going to look like fools, too," Effort says, her glossy lips perked upwards in a giggle.

It doesn't make sense. "Wait, why only the males?"

"Blue for males, pink for females, naturally," answers Effort, handing me the clothes hanger and the outfit. "Now go, put it on. I'll look away, promise."

I slowly pull myself into the mesh-like fabric, feeling the cool fabric stretch to accommodate my size. I bring the sleeves up and push my arms through them, and realize that the sleeves only go to about my elbows, if even that. The pant legs thankfully go to my ankles.

I zip up the front and stare blankly into a full-sized mirror. There are two pockets around my hips and a sort of patch just over my left pec with the number _2 _etched in white thread.

"It's fabulous, isn't it!" Effort draws me into an excited hug. "Ooh, Wraith, I'll admit that I was skeptical about this type of design, but I can just tell how amazing it'll look with all the proper accessories!"

Now I stare at her. "Proper accessories…?"

"But of course," Effort says, giggling and doing a mysterious little shimmy as she fetches a second bag from the little wardrobe. She peers inside and hands me a thin piece of rope with a sort of talisman attached.

"Is this a rattle?"

"By the looks of it, yes," she answers, still rummaging through the bag. I slip the rope over my head and toy with the rattle. I look like an incompetent idiot. "Here are your socks, and your shoes, too."

I grab the shoes – the least embarrassing part of the outfit, since they're a navy blue color and have thick, gummy soles on the bottom, with a mesh fabric on the outside to allow my feet some air. But first, I slip on the socks, thick baby blue ones that go up to my ankles.

"And the final touch!" Relishing in glee, she hands me a pair of… a pair of white kid gloves with rubbery, thick fingertips.

I moan inwardly as I slip them on, and to my surprise they don't even pass my wrists. They kind of sit at the edge of my hands.

"I have an idea of what the arena is," Effort says, tapping her finger against her puffy lips. "…but I think I'm going to let you figure it out on your own. After all, half the fun is watching the tributes' surprise as the drama unfolds, right?"

"Obviously," I say sarcastically. "Now is there a headdress I have to wear that sends up fireworks or is the outfit complete?"

"I believe it's complete," replies Effort. She gestures to the mirror. "The shoes don't offer much traction. I don't think you'll have to do _much_ running, at least."

"What are these gloves for, then?" I clap my hands together, find out that the rubbery fingertips stick together, and wiggle them to get them to tear apart.

"Climbing, perhaps?" Effort winks. "Or maybe the president thought that it would be amusing to see a bunch of tributes dressed as toddlers to battle it out!"

I scowl. "Very funny."

"_Tributes, you have five minutes till launch."_

"Ah, five minutes!" Effort claps her hands together, almost vibrating with all the excitement that she's giving off. "Would you like anything to eat or drink, Wraith? We've got a fridge full."

"I'll take something, sure." I shrug. Why not get something to nibble on?

A couple minutes later, I'm sipping a cold, creamy orange soup and nibbling on a smoky-flavored cheese when Effort squeals and rips the bowl out of my hands. "I believe it's time to go, Wraith!"

And suddenly I don't want to go, I want to stay right here, casually eating the cheese and soup and reminiscing about the good old days. But I know that this is what I've waited for my whole life. It's what I trained for. This should be in my blood by now.

So why am I not excited?

I trudge over to the tube and step in, watching blandly as Effort excitedly hops up and down the room, her pale blond curls jouncing with every little skip. When the tube begins to move up, and I press a hand against the cold glass, she offers a small wave and immediately flocks to the little television set that's placed near the wardrobe.

All I see is pink.

No, scratch that. I see a rose-colored mist swirling around my feet, and the silhouettes of tributes on either side of me. I hear the distinct screech of Kiera Brennan breaking down in hysterical shrieking.

My head whips around, trying to get a good glimpse of something, anything, but it's all so difficult. I see the vague outlines of a thin pole with a round object on top. Not just one, nor two, but an entire forest of the strange outlined figurines.

I open my mouth briefly to take a gulp of clear, sweet oxygen, when a sickly sweet taste floods into my mouth. It's like overly sweet candy, and it makes me gag.

But that's not all. There's a sound, too.

My ears perk up.

"_Daddy, Daddy, D-D-D-D-Daddy."_

"_Mummy, Mummy, M-M-M-M-Mummy."_

**A/N: Immortals by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**And HERE WE ARE, IN THE ARENA, OH GEEZ THIS IS INTENSE ERGIOKDFN**

**Seriously, though, it's been a journey. Exactly six months ago, I published the chapter with all of your tributes in it, so you've had six months to form an opinion, grow attached, and pick your favorites. Dang, I have good timing, don't I? ;) **

**But, yes. I'm personally ecstatic for the things to come. There will be heartbreak, build-ups, drama, killing, life, death, betrayals, sacrifice, and more, coming to you soon in the next chapters of Contrary!**

**I just want to say before blood starts spilling and people start dyin' that I love each of these tributes individually in their own way. They each have a unique spark that I adore, and writing every single one of them is an honor, you must know that. Killing them off? It's just realistic, and I'm sorry if yours doesn't claim the spot of victor, but I want to ask you to please consider the odds and remember that reality takes precedence over all.**

**And hey, everybody, the poll results are in for favorite tribute. You can check it out on my profile, but I'll also put the results down hereeeee!**

_9 votes- Juno Verdet_

_6 votes- Maya Verone_

_5 votes- Carisa Lenette, Merritt Cordeau, Tethys Acosta, Maysa Barric_

_4 votes- Brux Redragon, Shael Havern_

_3 votes- Wraith Elvery, Eidra Nevett, Ezra Jefferson, Aria Verselis, Cade Bennett, Cole Tenacity_

_2 votes- Soren Valen, Aspen Northwood, Cayley Torelli, Kiera Brennan, Kinton Machek, Haven Faye_

_1 vote- Ellika "Ell" Mayes, Halcyon Chae, Braxton Malory_

_0 votes- Griff Forden_

**Everybody is adored, doe. :O**

**And for those of you waiting on Teen Idle, you shall not wait much longer! After the next chapter of A Shot in the Dark is published, the story will be up and open for submissions! If you want to get a notification on when it's instantly published, I suggest you follow me? ;)**

**All righty, everybody. Questions, which I should hope you'll answer :)!**

**1\. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2\. Who do you THINK will be bloodbaths?**

**3\. What tributes do you WANT to be bloodbaths?**

**4\. General thoughts and maybe a chart?**

**5\. What do you think the arena is?**


	12. Valley of the Dolls

_**.**_

_**In my life I got this far, now I'm ready for the last 'hurrah'!**_

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

_60._

Disgustedly, I pluck at the baby blue outfit in a vain attempt to try and look cooler, but to no avail. It's not going to work. And the fact that it looks splendid on Merritt's fit form is even more ego-shriveling.

_50._

Perfectly calm, I glance at my surroundings. Aria Verselis next to me, in a similar, but pale-pink jumpsuit, is biting her nails and whipping her head around at the supplies scattered in front of her.

_40._

On my other side is Soren Valen, who's scowling down at the pillowy pink mess underneath us that vaguely resembles a cloud. It's less fluffy than coarse, though.

_30._

I squint and find two crossbow silhouettes hanging on hooks just inside the Cornucopia. Those are mine. One to use, one to stash away in case a backup weapon is needed.

_20._

I survey the tributes that I can see. Cade Bennett's knees are knocking together, and his face is chalky. Staring at him is Juno, her red hair precariously knotted up onto her head.

_10._

Kiera Brennan bursts into loud, sloppy tears, and the loud noise she's making echoes spookily across the darkened landscape. Kinton Machek - who happens to be her ally – is luckily placed directly next to her, and he quickly makes some soothing sounds to hush her up, but she won't stop.

_5._

I crack my knuckles, prepared for whatever comes at me.

_3\. _

_2\. _

_1\. _

_I'm not afraid._

The gong rings, an eerie sound that makes everybody lurch forward. Jetting forward on my tiptoes, I run right into the Cornucopia, my stare locked in on the crossbows.

But when I arrive, one of the first besides Eidra and Merritt, I'm confused. They're not silver or even bronze or gold. They're… bubblegum pink.

"What is this?" I growl out.

Eidra glances back at me, her ponytail adorned with a perky pink ribbon. "I don't know," she says playfully, scooping up the first weapon she finds, a curved hunting knife. "Now, I gotta go, but we'll see each other soon!"

And with that, she darts off, hair swinging and feet pattering on the soft ground.

It's easy to find my first target; Cole Tenacity, the bulky guy from District Eleven. Looking ridiculous in his own baby blue outfit and trying to snatch up a sickly pink colored hatchet from the fluffy ground, he stumbles briefly, and that's his fatal mistake.

With the precision of a skilled archer and the courage of a lion, I aim the crossbow and strike him through the side. He gasps and clutches the wound, crimson blood slowly but surely tainting the side of his outfit.

"W-Why?" he pants raggedly.

I don't want to say anything too cocky, but I also want him to know that yes, I am a threat. I merely smirk, take a small sword off of the ground, and swing it hard enough that it connects with the side of his head, and that's when he truly falls. He hits the ground hard.

And then, instead of just lying as a cold body, something odd happens. The fluffy floor beneath him sucks him into the ground and he disappears fully.

I stare at the spot with a sinking feeling of dread.

"Well?" screams Carisa, whooshing by me with a glimmering pink axe in her hand. "What are you doing, just gawping at the ground? Start killing!"

"I-I did," I stammer out, still a little shall-shocked.

"No, you didn't, you idiot! There's no body!"

"The ground sucked him up!" I shout back at her, above the chanting background noise of '_Mummy, Mummy, M-M-M-M-Mummy'._ "I slammed this sword into his head and the ground took him down under!"

Carisa, at a loss for words, glares at me and storms off to find a victim. She finds it in the slow-moving girl from Seven, her dark eyes wide and frightened and her hands clutching a small pink backpack. But she's frozen, rooted to the ground and watching chaos unfold around her.

That's when Carisa whacks her axe into her skull.

Aspen falls instantly, hands still frozen on the straps of the backpack and eyes slipping shut. The ground whooshes her underneath, but the backpack somehow stays above ground, stained with the fresh, sticky blood.

And I set my jaw, eyes steeled with determination. My cult taught me never to give up, not even when the going gets rough. And if that doesn't apply to here, then what else _would_ it apply to?

**Braxton Malory, District Nine**

"G-Go!" I scream.

Griff's on the plate next to me when the gong rings, and even a couple seconds after the chaos has unfolded and tributes swarm into the Cornucopia to grab a weapon or supplies, Griff stands, tiredly observing everything with a tilt of his head.

"What?"

I run towards him, easily scooping up his tiny body with my arms and charging to Cade, who's darting quickly to the outskirts to hide. His eyes are warm when I reach him.

"I'm going to go and get some supplies," I pant, forking the squirming Griff over. "You… you monitor him…"

"Got it," Cade says, awfully cheerily for a guy who's just been shoved into an arena. But it doesn't matter, I can reflect on his sudden optimism later, when hopefully we've all made it out alive.

Pumping my arms and careering full force into the flurry of writhing bodies but surprisingly no bloodshed quite yet, I lock my eyes in on the prize- a small, yet promising looking pink messenger bag. And right next to it, an impressive looking pair of knives. It may not be as good as the quarterstaffs I've trained with, but those are mine, since nobody's paying much attention to the smaller things on the outskirts. They're all caught up with nabbing a sleeping bag or crate of food from the Cornucopia.

Ducking under the punches being thrown by Halcyon Chae and Kinton Machek, both pairs of eyes filled with fear and impulse, I swoop down and scoop up the bag easily. Swinging it onto my back, I reach down for the knife set when all of a sudden-

"Braxton! Braxton! _Help_!"

My heart flutters and, forgetting the knives, I dash to the outskirts without another thought.

There, quickly being chased after, are my allies. And the one chasing them? The impassive blond Career, Merritt Cordeau. His eyes stare deadly at them as his mouth contorts into unnatural positions, a pike gripped tightly in his right hand.

Cade's the one to spot me first, and his eyes go wide with acknowledgement. "B-Braxton!" he cries out, flinging himself at me.

Griff, on the other hand, completely ignores Cade and the fact that we might be able to take Merritt down all together. He merely whooshes past us, high-tailing it… right back into the chaos known as the bloodbath. And Merritt is quick to pursue him.

I smack my forehead.

But I'm still rooting for him. I watch as Griff zooms here, there, past a couple plates and looping around various tributes- I'm noticing how tired Merritt is getting, his pace slowing and chest rising and lowering faster and faster – right past the scene of a bloody Aspen Northwood sinking into the ground, Carisa Lenette standing over her with a weary expression. He does a double take at the carnage, and that's his mistake.

He stops dead in his tracks to survey the scene, and Merritt's pike skewers him through the belly.

Cade gasps from beside me, his eyes popping out of their sockets crazily, and I tug his arm, my own stomach churning. "Come on," I choke out. "We can't stop for him, he's dead."

But Cade doesn't seem to believe it, not even when Griff collapses into a little heap and the ground swallows him up in a slurp. "He can't be gone," Cade says, his voice quivering with emotion. "He's Griff!"

"Yes, and Griff is dead," I repeat, biting my lip so I can taste blood. "Come _on_, Cade, we have to go before the same thing happens to _us_!"

But Cade's not fast enough. His knees knock together, and all of a sudden, he's in a pile on the soft pink ground, his eyes staring with unwavering concentration at the spot where Griff just was.

It looks like I'll have to be the man here.

I scoop Cade's body up from the ground – no easy task, considering he's a lot bigger than Griff was, and plus, he's probably about the same weight as me – and, with his hands gripped tightly in mine, I begin to drag him away.

But luck is not kind to us, and just as I think we're getting away from all the commotion, there's Merritt Cordeau again, popping back for another big hello.

There's not even a fight. Cade's eyes widen much more, if that's even possible, and Merritt's pike enters him cleanly in the ribs.

His voice echoes in my ears, a youthful scream that I'll never be able to forget.

His hands slip from my grip, sinking into the ground with force and intensity. I shriek out, dropping the limp body weakly, and watching the ground suck him in like he's a delicious snack and not some boy who, just ten seconds ago, was a living body, breathing and thinking and petrified with fear over his fallen friend.

Merritt's cold eyes find mine. He raises his pike.

"N-No!" I scream, my foot jetting out and connecting with his knee. He certainly wasn't expecting that, nor the force that came with it, and he quickly collapses onto the ground, clutching his leg. Without thinking I batter him with another kick, this one right onto his shin, which provokes a wounded snarl, and without another action I'm off, half-running and half-crying, not even caring where I end up.

I _failed_ them.

**Maya Verone, District Five**

"Maysa, we can't go in!"

Maysa tumbles over her own feet, brown eyes wide with nervousness. "We haven't found Ezra yet," she babbles nervously, and then I know it's just an excuse. She really couldn't give two waves for Ezra, she's never liked him.

"But look at the pandemonium!" I insist, gesturing to the mayhem that's erupted not two minutes ago. I watch as poor little Griff from Three gets skewered through the gut. "See, that's three tributes down now, from my count!"

"But we have no supplies!" Maysa argues, showing me her empty hands. Her eyes stare longingly at a small satchel, just under the clumsy feet of Shael, who falls into the arms of her littler ally. "Come on, Maya, it'll work itself out in the long run, and it'll be worth it besides!"

"But-"

"You know what?" Quickly abandoning her beggar façade, Maysa glares at me and puffs out her chest. "I'll go in, since obviously you've proved yourself a coward!"

"No, Maysa–"

Before I can have another word, she's slinking past minor fistfights and scooping up a little blue case, and then the satchel she had been eyeing up. Her legs furiously running inside the tight pink outfit, she returns to me with a haughty glare.

"Thought you couldn't do it?"

I stare at the two bags gratefully. From the look of the blue case and sound from the interior, there's some sort of metal contained inside, maybe knives or arrowheads? "You know, I'm really proud of you right now."

"Let's just go find Ezra," growls Maysa, throwing the satchel over her shoulder and whipping her head around, scouting the area. With a wince we both watch the boy from Ten get sliced open, and we both turn our heads away, the same way.

Our eyes land on Ezra, who's quickly retreating under the watchful stares of Eidra and Brux, both tributes closing in on him rapidly.

"Come on, Maysa, we have to go!" I choke out, my body acting before my mind can. My arms pump, my legs work, and my hair flies freely in the wind, trailing behind me and probably getting stuck in Maysa's perfectly done teeth.

Brux and Eidra look up as we arrive. Brux's face splits into a sickly smile when he realizes we're weaponless, while Eidra offers an arrogant grin. "Look who's joined the party," she says, though not rudely.

I jab a thumb at the cowering Ezra. "Let him go," I snarl, overtaken with passion and loyalty towards my ally.

"Why should we?" Brux spits out, pointing his crossbow towards lanky Ezra, who yelps in fear.

I smile coolly, retreating behind Maysa slightly. I don't think that the two Careers notice, as their gazes bounce from Ezra to Maysa, not keeping the shorter, less impressive girl in mind, even though I did score a rather high score in training.

I slip my hand inside the small blue case and wince slightly when I cut my finger. But they're there. This is the case that has my knives. Sheer luck has helped me.

I withdraw two of them, one for each hand, and slide the case inside of Maysa's satchel. Now Eidra and Brux notice me, their eyes piercing and unwavering.

"What did you just do?" Eidra barks.

I smile, showing her my knives without fear. "Give up Ezra," I say calmly. "I don't want to have to battle you guys."

Brux rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly. "You think you can take us?" he mocks me. "I don't mean to be a downer, Five, but this kid? He's our kill."

I strike.

Shooting forward with the courage of a soldier, I charge at Brux, considering the fact that he can't very well shoot his crossbow at a close range. His eyes widen, his mouth opens in shock, and he slams the side of the pink crossbow into my hip. I gasp, clutching my waist and glaring.

"Maysa, get Ezra!" I scream out. "Go! Go!"

She replies with a wounded, strangled cry and instead of helping Ezra, she charges over by me, hands trembling.

Brux scowls, striking again, once again on my hip. His eyes are wary of my knives, which I grip uselessly, weakened by his blows. I'm definitely gonna have a bruise.

In all the confusion, Ezra tries to get up, but I've forgotten about the silent, slinking Eidra, and I watch in pain and agony as she strikes forth with her spear.

It enters him cleanly, and without a word, he gasps and tumbles down.

Maysa and I find this as an opportune time to escape with the pack bouncing on her back and tears streaking down my cheeks, making salty contrails.

**Carisa Lennette, District One**

I watch as Eidra and Brux double-team the guy from Five, with a simmering anger that really can't be quelled. Why does he get to fight with her?

But then my gaze falls on somebody else, and I can't help but smile.

Halcyon Chae.

"Where's Soren now?" I shout in an airy tone, not really thinking as I charge towards him with my lance in hand. My previous axe was abandoned- it really was too heavy and clunky. "Did he abandon you, Halcyon? Did he _leave_ you?"

Halcyon notices me, his face registering total shock. Kinton Machek, who was just dueling with him and has a nasty bloody nose, swipes a little pack from the ground and makes an opportune getaway to his blond ally on the outskirts, who holds a small knife. Together they flee.

But it's not them I'm worried about, even though I still hold a grudge against the girl for dissing me on the hovercraft. It's Soren and his ally. And if I can manage to take Halcyon out, who knows how insane Soren will be driven?

Halcyon stares at me. "He's not here," he stammers out.

I smile, raising my eyes to the heavens and throwing my hands up. "Of course not, why would he be? He's nothing but somebody who betrays others. You should have known that."

"I've never been too good at discovering the obvious," he says woefully.

I squint my eyes slightly, staring him down. "I have an idea," I say, a whole new plan taking course in my mind. It's not half bad, either. "Why don't you join _us_? You can get revenge on that slimeball, and plus, it'll guarantee you more time. _We_ don't betray others, though I think that slime, Brux, has something up his sleeve."

"I don't know," Halcyon utters, wavering under the pressure. He takes a mournful glance behind him. "What if Soren comes back?"

I grin devilishly. "We double team him together. It's a win-win situation, obviously."

I ignore the mayhem around us, concentrating on Halcyon. If he doesn't say yes, he gets a lance through the gut, and if he does, well, the entire remainder of his life will be torture. For him, it's a lose-lose situation, actually. But he doesn't need to know that yet.

"Fine," he says finally, offering me a broken smile. "We join forces to take Soren down."

"Wonderful," I chirp, bending low to the ground and offering him a small knife. "Now, if you want to prove yourself as a true Career, go out and make somebody bleed."

"That seems sort of harsh, doesn't it?" Halcyon says.

"Not to us." I toss my hair back. "Everybody dies, it's life. Now come on, before everybody gets away!"

As if to prove my point, I grab the nearest tribute – little Aria Verselis – and hold her tightly. I expect her to submit. What I don't expect is for her – the girl who remained silent almost this entire time – to scream at the top of her lungs and bite my wrist, thus freeing herself and giving me a nasty bite mark that pierces my skin, a whitish tone creeping onto it. I clutch my arm, ignoring the lance that clatters to the ground, and examine it.

Halcyon, however, freaks out.

"Should I g-grab a first aid kit?" he stutters as his district partner speeds away in a flurry of limbs and thick black hair.

"I'll be fine," I grumble, gritting my teeth. "I just didn't expect the little devil to bite me…"

Halcyon smiles slightly. "She's a fighter," he says appreciatively. "She won't give up on anything."

"Apparently not," I growl, gesturing towards my wound. But I fight the pain, instead opting to pick up my lance and help out with taking out the stragglers. There are only a couple tributes that dare linger around the Cornucopia anymore.

"Yeah…"

"What are you waiting for?" I snap at him, but once I see the shock register on his face, I quickly contort my scowl into a smile. "I mean, come on. We've got to plan out a strategy to take Soren down, right?"

"Yeah…"

**Kiera Brennan, District Eleven**

I'm scared.

I don't know where to turn; it seems like the supplies scattered around the Cornucopia are getting fewer and fewer. The tributes, too. There's barely anybody hovering around the area anymore, not even around the outskirts.

Cayley Torelli pulls her littler ally, Aria, in for a hug as the two run off, giving the Careers the slip.

A couple of yards away, Ellika Mayes is picking through a small array of weapons arranged at the tail of the Cornucopia. She finds a satisfactory machete and even a bag of arrowheads, and with a self-satisfied smile, she slides her knapsack onto her shoulder and strides off with verve and ease.

And even Shael and Tethys, dueling with the tired-looking blond Career from Four, are able to kick him and evade easily.

And then it registers to me that I'm suddenly on my own.

My head whips around, my red braids slapping my chin. Where are Kinton and Haven? They told me that they would be here, waiting for me. Or did they say that they'd wait for me to come and visit them?

I shake my head in confusion. It doesn't matter, really, now that they've left me to fend for myself.

But I never thought, out of all of the tributes, that they'd be the ones to betray me. They seemed to kind.

Well, looks can be deceiving.

I sigh, pulling away from the Cornucopia easily. The Careers are arguing over the arrival of the sickly-looking boy from Six, a wide frown adorning his face. I swoop to the ground and pick up a small sword, its heaviness weighing my hand down, and exit quietly, leaving the angry Careers to communicate.

But where to go?

I opt for a friendly-looking area where the background noise – the chantings of _"Daddy, Daddy, D-D-D-D-Daddy"_ – seem to be muted a bit more. It's a forest of sorts, but instead of trees, there are giant white poles with colorful discs on top, like lollipops. And when I dig the sword into the pole, it cuts away easily, revealing an interior like toughly woven cotton.

Yep, definitely lollipops.

I walk for a while, perhaps ten to fifteen minutes, until I find my way out of the forest, stepping over a pole that has seemingly cascaded to the ground, like a fallen tree trunk, and find myself in a little neighborhood. Sort of.

The houses are brown, the material grainy. They're conjoined together with a thick whitish glue stuff, like frosting. And when I dig my sword into the glue, withdrawing it, I find out that it's frosting all right… almost like the gingerbread houses that the more pretentious kids back in Eleven used to create.

Is that what this arena is, then? A candyland?

But as I glance towards the more unique houses, with spokes radiating off of the roof and more brightly colored candies adorning the buildings, it's obvious that there's not just candy here. Figures moving in the distance, too big and perfectly silhouetted to be tributes, alert me that we're not the only ones in here.

I swiftly move towards them, curiosity getting the best of me.

It takes a while to walk over to them, but when I'm within about thirty yards, one of them turns towards me, exiting a small gingerbread house. It's a doll, around six or seven feet tall with glistening black button eyes and a stitched red mouth, curved upwards in not a friendly smile but a sinister smirk.

And what freaks me out the most is the fact that it opens and closes, a horrid-sounding noise emitting from it.

"Mummy, Mummy, _Mmmmummy_," it chants in a high-pitched voice in time with the background voices.

I stare at it in horror as the other moving figures turn to see me. But these aren't all ragdolls like the first one was. There's a mixture. There's a couple dolls with skin like porcelain and cheeks rosy like raspberries, festooned with glassy eyes with fringed eyelashes and peaked eyebrows. There's dolls with half of their faces torn off at the seams, leaving cotton spilling out of odd places, and dolls with crayon markings etched into the fabric of their dresses and hair knotted into sorry-looking braids.

There have to be at least twenty.

I utter a small shriek, collecting my dignity and making a run for it, when the first ragdoll increases its volume of chanting, and the others join in. And then my ears are hurting with the intensity of the voices, and it reminds me so much of the hallucinations I've had back in District Eleven, and I'm somehow convinced that I can control these like I've controlled my past ones.

"Calm!" I shriek.

They gaze at me with their button eyes, glassy marble eyes, scribbled-on crayon eyes.

And then, there's a collective scream.

"_Mummy!"_

I'm frozen my knees giving out and making me tumble to the ground, suspended in fear as they swarm me, slowly and surely piling on top of me. It's harder and harder to breathe or even hear, and the sick candy scent that hangs in the air is overwhelming.

I pass out at the sound of some bone inside of me cracking, but not before I hear the final words of the dolls.

"Tribute, tribute, t-t-t-_tribute_!"

**Tethys Acosta, District Eight**

I smile as the cannons come- one, two, three, four, five, six. Echoing in the distance, beyond the high-pitched voices that squeal out "_Daddy_" and "_Mummy_" at sporadic times, the cannons are final.

"Six down," I mention cheerfully to Shael. "I'd say that we're well-off."

She nods and smiles a little, twisting her braid into a near-knot. "With supplies, too. We've got more than enough." She pats the bag that she carries with the blade of her dagger.

I grip my spear and smile. I couldn't find a blowgun, unfortunately, but a spear is just as good. It's versatile- you can conk somebody over the head with it, and the detachable arrowhead at the end is useful for sure.

"So, where should we head?"

We've just been walking through one of the many lollipop forests, this one consisting of no tributes so far, but the wispy pink cottonlike grass has been tickling our feet.

"I think we're good with just walking," Shael answers quietly. She glances behind her shoulder, something that she's been doing a lot since we evaded Merritt. "Maybe we'll find something."

"Right," I reply. "But should we at least find out what sort of supplies we have, maybe see if we need to get any water?"

"Sure," is her short response.

Eagerly I take a seat on one of the fallen lollipops, the slim white trunk – or lollipop stick, whatever it is – providing a slippery but usable seat. Shael hands me the bag and I open it with a wide smile.

Firstly, I pull out a small container, from which I can see contains dried fruit. I pop it open and place one in my mouth, savoring the taste of a tough apricot. I offer one to Shael, but she shakes her head.

After that, I find a thermos, but no water. "We'll have to look for a water source," I comment, setting it neatly on the ground next to the dried fruit. Shael is silent, untying her braid so that her silky hair can flow freely.

The next few items are relatively normal to what it usually contained inside of backpacks- a bag of bread rolls, a book of matches, and a little plastic container with a couple arrowheads bouncing around inside of it. I immediately grip it excitedly, comparing them to my spear, and find a perfect fit. Excellent!

"We're doing really well," I remark, slipping my hand inside the bag one more time to find only one more item. But it confuses me; it's a pacifier?

"Why would they have that in there?" Shael questions, taking it from me and rolling it around her hand. She brings it up to her nose and sniffs it. "It's nothing special, legitimately just a baby binky."

"Well, they wouldn't have put it in there for no reason." I take it back from her and slip it inside the bag. "Let's save it for later, anyways."

She nods, placing the other items back in the bag, but I notice she keeps her dagger out at her side, in a little belt loop that seems like it was meant to hold a weapon. "Yeah, let's."

"So who do you think died?" I try to make conversation as we start walking again, though this time I have the bag and the spear.

"I saw a couple people go down, like Cole Tenacity and Cade," says Shael quietly. Her head is bowed, and her hair forms a silky curtain around her face. I can't tell if she's hurting or merely offering a moment of silence for him.

"I'm sorry," I reply in a woeful tone. "He was your district partner. It's natural to feel sad."

"He was so little, though." Her head comes up and her eyes are misted over with tears. Her fingers lace together. "I should have tried something with him. We should have invited him into our alliance or done something, anything."

"He had an alliance," I soothe her gently. "He was happy with Griff and Braxton."

"I should have known that they wouldn't last," Shael says, ignoring me and mashing her face into the palms of her hands. "They were all too inexperienced and young. I should have tried something, Tethys."

And that's when I know just to back off, and to let her vent out her emotions. Because I know what it's like to be hurt, and I honor her opinions.

I can just hope that the guilt doesn't consume her.

**A/N: Valley of the Dolls by Marina and the Diamonds.**

_**24th- Cole Tenacity, District Eleven. A sword to the skull.**_

_**23rd- Aspen Northwood, District Seven. An axe to the skull.**_

_**22nd- Griff Forden, District Three. A pike to the abdomen.**_

_**21st- Cade Bennett, District Ten. A pike to the abdomen.**_

_**20th- Ezra Jefferson, District Five. A spear to the torso.**_

_**19th- Kiera Brennan, District Eleven. Killed by the dolls.**_

**Gamemaker, Cole was great to have. Stoic and silent and strong in his beliefs, he was cool to write for. If only he wasn't a repeat.**

**Inky, with Aspen you gave me a tribute that in all honesty, I struggled to write for. She was difficult, a challenge. Mostly meek and humble, but with her more fiery sides, I found it hard to write her personality well. That, combined with the fact that she was too a repeat and realistically, she wouldn't have made it far, made my choice to kill her easier.**

**Clove, Griff was a cutie. I adored to write for him, though it got a little tricky to write about his thoughts on occasion. But that's alright. He was kind through and through, and intelligent too, and the only thing that most people had a bone to pick with was his sporadic train of thought. That being said, coupled with the fact that his body was tiny and his common sense wasn't too good, made him pass on.**

**Tyler, Cade was great! I can't describe to you how many times I bounced back and forth the idea of making him go further. It was hard, though, with his personality and the fact that he could have gone either way. A wild card, if you will. His sweet personality and the aura that just couldn't leave made him great. But in the end, I made my decisions and, well, he didn't make the cut. I'm so sorry.**

**Xymena, I loved Ezra. It was hilarious how quickly his moods shifted though he managed to keep them under control. He was a joy to write, with his insecurities and his quirks. His alliance would have picked him up, but when I shuffled the cards and tried to pick out a plot for him, well, that's where I fell a little short. May he rest in peace.**

**Mitch, nobody really understood Kiera. She managed to keep her demons hidden away, and yet, they came out at times. She was weird, I'll admit, and not your usual tribute that you write for. But she was fun. Fun, diverse, fresh, new, and interesting. But again, like Ezra, I just couldn't pick out a good, solid plot for her that wouldn't end badly.**

**And with that, we enter the arena! ;) Of course, it's not what you expected – cradle, playpen, daycare, all good guesses – but instead, a child's dreamland! **

**Imagine the arena as a jawbreaker, with the Cornucopia in the middle. For now, the tributes have only explored the candyland-like area of the arena. And you got a taste of the doll muttations. There is much yet to explore!**

**I think the song really ties it all together nicely, yeah. :)**

**Well, hope you guys enjoyed the bloodbath and I'd love it if you dropped a review…. But until the next update, adieu!**

**Questionnsssss.**

**1\. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2\. Thoughts on each of the deaths?**

**3\. Predictions for next deaths?**

**4\. General thoughts?**


	13. Elastic Heart

_**.**_

_**I've got thick skin and an elastic heart**_

_**But your blade might be too sharp**_

**Soren Valen, District One**

Breathing hot air onto my frozen hands, I rub them together vigorously in an attempt to stay warm. I'm ninety percent sure that the arena's temperature is not nippy, that it's just me, psyching myself out and feeling cold and blunt for leaving Halcyon behind.

Why _did_ I leave him behind?

I glare at my feet, buried inside of the gummy blue shoes. I know I don't do well on my own. Well, that would be a lie. I can operate just fine on my own, but without somebody to keep me company, I'm trapped by my own formless thoughts.

A sigh emerges from my parted lips, and I flex my fingers in the freedom of the sickly sweet air. I've shed the white gloves a while back, vaguely tossing them into my small knapsack, in which I've found contains a tin of biscuits, a water bottle, and a pacifier. What a joke.

I don't have a weapon, but I mean, that's fine. I've always done well with the bare minimum. The only thing I really needed was a friend, but I've gone and left him, so what's the use now?

I mean, without Halcyon, I can barely tell where I am.

Rising to my feet, I squint at the silhouettes of the moving figures in the distance. Not very long ago, I saw some tribute try to battle them. It ended with their eventual cannon, so I'm assuming that they're mutts, given to us tributes and are not to be provoked unless one seeks death. The mutts look like dolls, actually, tall, creepy dolls.

Did Halcyon like dolls?

I shake the silly thought out of my head, instantly berating myself. _Of course he didn't, you idiot_, I silently scold myself. _First off, he's a guy, and secondly, he's only a year or so younger than yourself. And you don't like dolls or toys of the sort, now do you?_

A vague smile drifts across my chin. Cary always liked dolls but never played with them. She preferred to arrange them and stare at their pretty outfits or pristine hairdos. Sometimes she'd ask me to pose them with her, and I always would.

_Sigh_. Those days are gone now.

I grab my knapsack and, shuffling away from the small bench I was just sitting on, I start making my way to the Cornucopia. I'm not even sure what for. Maybe to pluck some new supplies from the outskirts? Maybe to see if Halcyon's stone-cold body litters the ground with all the rest?

Within about twenty minutes of brisk striding, I can see the curved horn, and the chantings of "Daddy, Daddy" are considerably louder. But something is off. There are no bodies, and I don't think they'd have collected them that quickly. The pillowy ground has spilled blood on it, tainting the pale pink color a crimson-brown shade.

Lovely.

But the people milling around on top of the ground – they're even weirder. There's freckly Juno, munching happily on some dried meat, Wraith, who's stalking after her, Eidra, rummaging through a backpack, Brux and Merritt, discussing stuff at the outskirts as they hack away at some lollipop tree trunks not too far away from here, and Carisa, talking to somebody.

Not just somebody.

There, talking to Carisa, is my ally – or, rather, ex-ally.

Halcyon joined them? My head spins and I drop to my knees briefly, concealing myself behind some fallen lollipop brush. It doesn't make sense! He always talked about how the powerful people in the Games were actually the weakest within, how they had to build up a case to prove themselves. And now he's one of them?

His eyes flicker lifelessly over Carisa as she talks animatedly, obviously trying to show off for Eidra, who's picking through some bags behind her. Halcyon looks bored as hell, but he's not showing any signs of being fearful.

What _happened_?

My lip quivers.

I wrap my arms around my legs, huddling closer into myself, grateful for the concealment that the tangled, gargantuan lollipop sticks offer. I need some time to allow any battling emotions run free and to think. While I'm doing that, I may as well consider my next move.

I need some time alone.

And yet, I can't fight the feeling of hopelessness and abandonment. I left Halcyon – so why am I the one who feels so betrayed?

**Halcyon Chae, District Six**

"You're _so_ funny, Halcyon!"

Carisa's overbearing smile is poisonous and laced with underlying tones of malice. Her eyes sparkle a little too brightly. Her hand movements are overly exaggerated. She's all fake.

"Thanks," I say dully.

If she's put off by this, she doesn't show it. Instead, she runs a hand through her hair and cocks her head slightly, glaring at Brux and Merritt on the outskirts. For some reason, they're taking axes and hacking away at the treelike lollipops that hover above them.

"What are you two idiots doing?" she yells.

Brux looks at her, brow thickening into a scowl, and he slowly moves closer, slinking forward in an ominous way, until he quickly straightens out with a self-satisfied smirk and shrugs. "We're seeing if there's anything valuable about the suckers, of course."

"Why would you do that?" I ask.

Brux looks at me, twisting his mouth into something unpleasant-looking. He'd made it clear how he didn't like my joining the alliance. At least he's making an attempt to be civil. "We don't exactly know."

"Without a will, there's no way," I quip.

He stares at me. "Okay."

Jogging back to join Merritt, Carisa offers me a water bottle, which I promptly decline. Who knows what sorts of poisons she's tipped into that water? She certainly seems capable of being a villain.

But, for now, at least, it's not her I should worry about. It's my ex-ally.

"Hey, Carisa?"

Her glittering eyes find mine and she smiles. "What do you need?"

"I don't mean to sound bloodthirsty or even eager or anything like that…" I lace my fingers together. "but I'd sort of like to know when you plan on finding Soren."

"As soon as possible, of course."

"So aren't we going to go out and, well, maybe look for him?" I run a hand through my platinum hair, enhanced by the Capitol's multiple versions of hair dyes and all that.

"We can if you like," she says lazily. "Or, rather, you can. I'm going to stay here by Eidra for now, and-"

A guttural holler from behind me makes my blood freeze and my heart stop. It takes one look at Carisa's shell-shocked eyes to make me whip my head around, painfully cricking my neck in the process.

"Look who we found!" screams out Brux, his feral eyes staring at a squirming figure on the ground.

My hands stiffen into fists as I see the face of the figure, frightened and gawping at Brux and Merritt, scrambling to his feet as he simultaneously tries to grab his small backpack from the ground – Soren.

His eyes meet mine, and they're guilty.

Without thinking, I lurch forward.

He shrieks, hands slapping mine away, and I roll onto the ground, which is just as soft as it looks. It cushions my fall and I spring back to my feet easily, ready to throw a punch if needed.

Everybody sort of backs away.

It's fight or flee, and the desperation and drive in Soren's eyes makes it evident that he's not planning to run anytime soon. I glance back quickly, expecting Carisa to be joining into the fight, maybe with a spear or something to knock him over the head, but she's quiet, mouth puckered and eyebrows drawn together.

Soren's fist rams into my jaw and I growl, locking eyes with him. The fury of what he's done comes back to me – abandoning me at the bloodbath, only to later pop back into my life and attack me?

You can't mess with a person like that!

Anger seizing control of my mind and body, I clutch his throat and squeeze as tightly as I can, eyes screwed shut as my hands work with effort.

But when I open my eyes, expecting a limp body in my grasp, there's Soren, smirking and gazing at me with half-lidded eyes. "You guys will never get it, will you?" He whispers, almost incoherently. Slipping out of my clutch, he scrambles to his feet smoothly and, with a foot, kicks my chest, forcing me onto my back.

One sickening stomp to my throat is all it takes. I hear – and feel – a crackling noise, before the pain consumes me, but I can't scream. I can only watch with misty eyes as Soren's eyes fly to the tributes behind me, at the tittering given off by Eidra and Carisa.

They chase after him, and my eyes slip shut. My breathing grows ragged, made very difficult with my all-but-smashed trachea. My mind, however, whirls.

_I'm sorry for pushing you in front of that train._

_I'm sorry for failing the family. _

_I'm sorry for dwelling on your very existence, brother._

_I'm sorry for pushing you out of my mind._

_I'm sorry for dying and leaving no legacy to your incredible life._

_I'm so, so sorry._

**Haven Faye, District Twelve**

I scowl as I bite into the orange wedge, a sticky saccharine flavor invading my mouth. It tastes revoltingly gross when I allow the overly sweet air to rush into my mouth, too.

"This is disgusting," I declare, swallowing the orange. "The air just tastes gross in here."

"But at least you know that there's some sort of food inside it, however small," Kinton perks up, sucking some of the foggy air into his mouth. He smacks his lips dramatically, waggling his eyebrows at me.

I shake my head, mashing my forehead into my palm. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, I know." He shrugs, rolling my knife over and over in his hands. "I'm fine with that."

Even after we abandoned Kiera at the bloodbath to fend for ourselves, terrified by what Grey had told us, we've been lying low. Settling down in a respectable wooded area under the cover of tangled lollipop sticks, we've made a makeshift shelter to protect us from weather – of course, if there is any.

Our supplies have also been rather great. Finding a sack with a few handfuls of assorted fruits, a couple granola bars, a giant thermos filled with fresh water, some bubblegum pink blades, and oddly enough, a baby pacifier, we're set for now.

It all seems perfect, too perfect.

"Do you think we should keep moving on?" I ask, piercing the silence that's quickly consumed us. Kinton glances over at me, eyebrows knitting themselves together, but I continue. "I mean, our area is nice and all, but we should set out and explore the area more. It might tell us where any other tributes are, you know."

"Ah, you're right!" Kinton grins, easily adapting to my plan. He tucks the wrapper of his granola bar neatly inside an outlier pocket of the backpack and, with the knife in hand, slings it over his shoulder. "Where to first, Haven?"

I glance out across the lollipop forest, through trunks and trunks of white poles. "Let's try to go straight and see what develops."

Grabbing a blade from the backpack, I set off in front, hair swinging in a ponytail and legs strong with some sort of muscle. I'm energized, trekking with a purpose.

And then I trip.

Hissing in pain, I roll to the side and before I know it, Kinton's toppled down on top of me. Trying to avoid slicing him open with my blade, I swish upwards to avoid any conflict, but in the scramble, I cut through the fabric of the backpack and up into the bag.

"Crap!"

Kinton rolls off of me, groaning a little. He rubs his head and furrows his brow at me. "Are you okay? I didn't want to have hurt you or anything."

"I cut open the bag," I say, fully frustrated with myself. Kinton whirls around and half of the supplies contained inside the backpack tumble out.

A closer inspection proves that there's nothing we can do about it, pretty much, except tie the shoulder straps of the bag together and trying to make a different sort of bag, but it's obviously precarious. Not much use, but Kinton promises me he'll be more careful from now on.

And then we start walking again.

For the first ten or so minutes, there's nothing but the sounds of our gummy, rubbery shoes against the soft ground. The pinkish fog swirls about our heads, the sickly sweet scent creeping up my nasal passages and tickling my nose. And who could ever forget the repetitive background track that they've forced us to listen to? Even repeating one of the words is torture.

"_Daddy, Daddy, D-D-D-D-Daddy."_

It's always the same pattern. Two words, a stammer that occurs four times, and then a repetition of the first word. It alternates between 'Daddy', 'Mummy', and I've even heard 'Sissy' in there a couple times, but it's definitely not the norm.

I scowl at the ground, wishing for something to plug my ears with, when a small gasp from behind me makes me glance up.

"Kin-"

"Tributes!" Kinton gawks, drawing me close to his chest and staring in front of us with his mouth hanging open. Grunting, I worm out of his embrace to take a peek at the tributes myself.

It's obvious that they're not tributes. They are too tall and perfectly built to be tributes – plus, the majority of them are wearing dresses, and I didn't see a single tribute with a dress on. We all have these stupid, baggy jumpsuits.

"They aren't-" I begin, but Kinton cuts me off.

"They look like dolls!" he says in a hushed tone, his eyes wide like coins.

I frown, walking a little closer to the shadowy silhouettes. It looks like there's around twenty, just milling around and quietly chanting. I widen my eyes a little, craning my neck to the side of a lollipop pole so I can try and get a better look. Are they the ones causing the constant noise? But the noise here seems to be quieter, more peaceful than the frenzied words that were jabbered at the Cornucopia.

"Maybe they are," I say solemnly. I lace my fingers together, observing the dolls milling about as my ally gapes at me. I merely shrug. "But you know what, Kin?"

"Huh?"

"We're gonna match 'em." My eyes narrow and I smile. "We're gonna be those dolls' biggest enemies."

**Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three**

Carefully rolling up my sleeves, I nibble delicately on the edge of the biscuit. Man, I'm famished.

It's been rather tranquil for me so far. I actually made it out of the bloodbath alive, which was definitely a plus, and then I managed to snag a little pack. I don't have a weapon – for now. I must have dropped the machete I was carrying, because one minute it was there, and the next, gone.

But it's not like I'm not set on supplies. I have loads; a first aid kit, a roll of biscuits, some dried fruit strips, a water skin, and even some little baby binky that I found tucked into the fabric of the bag. It's tiny, really, the size of my pinky, but who knows? It could be useful.

Looks can be deceiving.

I sigh slightly, leaning out of my perch on the balcony. I've taken up residence in one of the larger gingerbread houses that I found. The rooms were mainly empty with the exception of some giant furniture pieces made out of what I assume is candy, but not the sort of candy that you'd want to eat.

But there were also staircases in some, rickety old – and _long_, they took me more than a while to climb – flights of stairs that led to a second floor. And up there, it was great. The same types of rooms, but what a view they offered!

In the house I'm currently in, there's even a little balcony that overlooks the lollipop forest – for a while, anyways. It's harder to look at the tributes inside it, since the giant round heads conceal most of it.

That doesn't mean that I can't see anybody, though. I can actually see quite well Kinton and Haven from Twelve, both of them tripping over their own feet. They go down in a flurry of limbs.

I smirk slightly, turning away to glance over at the clearing where the Cornucopia is. I can just barely see the top of it, the metallic silver tip shimmering in the light emitted from the darkening sky, now a smoldering shade of charcoal violet, streaked with glinting stars.

I sigh, my small smile sliding off my face quickly. So far, it's day one and how many tributes have been knocked off? Six? If my math is right – which I honestly doubt that it is – then I think that's about a fourth of the tributes.

Six faces that will never return to their home district to see their families ever again.

I'm not quite sure who died; what I know for sure is that there was a lot of chaos and not too many bodies littering the ground. They all seemed to disappear, faceless. Or maybe I just wasn't being very observant.

I twist a lock of hair around my finger wistfully, watching the perfectly round moon as it soars into the air, with the pace of a snail but the looks of a miracle. It looks great against the purples and blacks of the night sky, the hues combining gloriously.

Back in Three, it wasn't like that. If we were lucky enough for the smog to clear out, to allow us a day with sunshine, nobody went outside. We'd heard enough about sunburns and the other unfortunate things that happen when pale people go out into the sunlight.

Another sigh escapes my lips, this one whistling out like wind through a forest. It's the third time I've sighed in, what, a minute?

Maybe this arena's depressing me more than I depress myself.

What a depressing thought.

_No_. I shake my head resolutely. I need to keep a positive outlook on this. If I play my cards right, I can win this thing.

A sudden pause in the chorus of chanting makes me glance to the outside. The Capitol seal flashes briefly across the sky, thus beginning instrumental sounds and the patriotic anthem.

Then the first face appears.

It's Griff.

I let out a surprised squeak and muffle any other sounds by slapping my hand across my mouth. My eyes flicker across the sky, taking in his sunny smile, bright eyes, and overall positive expression. How could a kid as innocent as him bite the dust?

I might not have shown it much in the Capitol, but, well… I grew attached to him. If even a little. And it pains me to say that.

Tears well up in my eyes as the next face pops up. It's the lanky boy from Five with the big eyes and sheepish smile.

After him comes the Asian guy from Six, with the pale hair and pale skin. He frowns down at me, as if he knew his death was a mistake.

The girl from Seven, Aspen or something, is next to appear. There's not much to say about her, since I didn't really pay much attention to her. But even her face, offering a saddened smile, makes my heart twitch.

Little Cade comes next, and this time I look away. I can't look at him without thinking of Griff, poor Griff, who never deserved any of this.

The last two faces in the sky are the duo from Eleven – first the girl, with her sunken, jaundiced expression and dull red hair, and then the guy, smiling quietly as if he knew a secret that nobody else did.

And then it's over.

And I can't force back in the tears that leak from my eyes.

**Cayley Torelli, District Eight**

"Well, that was _nice_!"

I clap my hands animatedly, hoping to sway the stricken expression on Aria's face as the sky fades to black. Her mouth's quivering and her eyes are welling up in tears for her fallen district partner.

Me, however. I can be the one to lift up her chin if I really try.

"Six tributes down already," I babble, grinning and toying with the end of one of my braids. "We're that much closer to going home, aren't we?"

Aria, clutching her red scarf – the only token she could bring with her in the arena, considering a notebook and pencil would be two items – nods mournfully, her eyelashes clumping together with crystalline teardrops that teeter on the edges. It's not a good look.

I try a new tactic.

"Wanna play a game?"

She looks at me, intrigued. Sniffling, she nods her head, causing her high ponytail to jounce merrily.

"Well, it's sort of like eye spy." I lace my fingers together, looking around the dark room. A shadowy, empty gingerbread house probably isn't the best place to play a game where you have to use your sense of sight. "Um, actually, let's try something else."

Aria considers me with sullen eyes.

"Or maybe just get some rest?"

She shrugs, staring hollowly at the crumbly floor. Maybe she just needs some time to think about Halcyon. Or maybe she wants to talk her feelings out!

"Do you wanna talk to me about Halcyon?" I bat my eyelashes sweetly, graciously.

She shakes her head, her tearful eyes wide. She swallows thickly and stares down at the ground.

I sigh impatiently, tapping my fingers against the pink fabric of my jumpsuit. I've never done well with being bored. Aria's not making it any easier, what with her being so quiet.

"I'm gonna go out and explore," I announce.

Aria looks up, lip quivering, and shakes her head briefly. I smile, merely patting her head and rising to my feet. "Don't fear, Aria. I'll be back in the blink of an eye."

Her eyes follow me as I jog down the stairs, our dagger – the only weapon we have – clenched tightly in my fist. I shut the frail gingerbread door behind me gently, and am immediately immersed by darkness.

It's nice. It's _soothing_.

Briefly closing my eyes and inhaling the sweet-scented air in the form of thick, humid fog that swirls around me, I stride out, a small smile painted across my face and my eyes vivid with wonder at the starry night.

Tiny crystalline stars, so tiny that you nearly can't see them. They look like teardrops on a bed of navy-violet, twinkling in the most glorious way.

Breath-taking.

Smiling up at the sky, I almost don't realize the two tributes slinking up behind me.

But the heavy footsteps make it evident, and I'm snapped out of my stargazing trance. My heartbeat grows cold, like tendrils of ice hardening in my veins instead of blood. Eyes growing wider and wider, neck stiff, I slowly turn to face the two.

Haven and Kinton. District Twelve.

Inhaling sharply, I lock eyes with Haven, the brown irises penetrating me in a fiercer glare than I expected from a girl her age. "What do you two want?" I demand immediately, my fear overtaken by quick anger. How dare they sneak up on me! Aren't outlier districts supposed to stick together and all that?!

Kinton, shorter than me by a bit, carefully treads up to me, making sure to show off his own curved knife. It's almost careless, in the way that he's holding it. "We've come to make a proposal."

"God, don't be so formal and get on with it," I snap.

Haven narrows her eyes. "You're not in the position to yell at us, when we clearly have the upper hand," she growls.

"Haven," Kinton says soothingly, shooting her a look.

The girl folds her arms across her skeletal torso and scowls.

Kinton inches forward, cautious and tentative. "So, well, I know that this is a little abrupt," he begins, his voice wavering. "But, um, we took notice of your alliance during training. And, well, we didn't think to ask you two for an alliance – and I know that you still have your ally, Aria, since I saw you two run out of the bloodbath – but, um…"

"What the fool means to say," Haven bursts in, "is that we want to ask you two to merge with us."

I blink. This was unexpected. Are they trustworthy? "You mean… as one giant alliance? Me, Aria, and you two?"

"Exactly!" says Kinton happily. His features soften. "Would you two be up to it?"

"I know that I would be, for sure," I say quickly, trying to convince the duo, "but Aria's upstairs in the gingerbread house. I'd have to consult her."

But even as I say it, I know that it's a weak argument. Aria _never_ talks. She can barely squeak out a "yes" without going into a bout of heavy breathing. And plus, she's submissive. She'd agree to anything I asked of her.

"I'll be right back," I add, holding up my hand and darting into the house.

Once I'm inside, my hands shaking and rattling against the knife, I make my way into the room where Aria was, and still is. She's braiding her hair, almost invisible in the dark.

"Aria, Aria," I say, my heart hammering against my chest. "Grab the bag. We need to flee."

**A/N: Elastic Heart by Sia.**

_**18th- Halcyon Chae, District Six. A foot to the throat.**_

**Minho, I loved Halcyon and you knew it. He was so cool to write for. I'm being completely honest. The one thing that I didn't like? He was difficult to write for. I struggled to write his personality and his backstory. At least he got a bit of a plot in there, yes? :)**

**Alright, guys, so seven down on the first day. Not too bad, huh? **_**I**_** think it's pretty good. **

**I'm repeating myself. Yaaaaaaay. It's been a long day. Teen Idle's tribute list and blog went up, and, well, there was a heck lot of stress that accompanied that. Nothing that some Hershey's Kisses, purified bottle water, a cozy sweatshirt, and a lot of Marina music can't solve, right? Right. **

**Well, aside from the usual, nothing much more to say. Have fun reading the chapter, and dropping a review wouldn't go unnoticed, for sure!**

**Question time, yea :o**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on the death?**

**Who will be next to go?**


	14. Human

.

_**I'm only human, and I bleed when I fall down.**_

_**I'm only human, and I crash and I break down.**_

**Kinton Machek, District Twelve**

"Do you think she's actually getting her ally?"

I smile over at Haven reassuringly. "Of course she is," I reply. "She wouldn't lie to us."

"Kinton, we legitimately just met her. She could be lying through her teeth."

"But, but, but…" I wag my finger at her playfully. "We like to believe people. We like to trust people."

"Don't be so childish, you're seventeen." She crosses her arms and swivels, leaning against the gingerbread house. "Trusting people will only get a knife in your back."

I look meaningfully at her and waggle my eyebrows.

"Okay, well, you can trust me. You know that. It's district loyalty. But we just met Cayley a minute ago, Kin, and, well, I just don't know about her."

"Haven, do you trust me?"

The question flies out of my mouth before I can help it, and it sounds so vulnerable and naked in the air like that. I stare at Haven imploringly, and her mouth twitches with a smile upon the usually grim frown she wears.

"Um…"

"Do you?" Now it's nagging me. I'd really quite like to know.

"Of course I do." Haven forces a laugh and turns away, not facing me. "Why would I ally with you if I didn't trust you?"

Smiling under the knowledge that she does indeed trust me, I cross my arms. "I just wanted to ask. Makes me feel more secure, you get it?"

"Yeah."

The conversation hits a road block, and for a few more minutes we stand in silence, waiting for Cayley and her little ally. Then, I break the peace.

"Do you think she's still there?"

"I personally think she's left us." Haven sighs in frustration. "Whatever. Let's scout out the house. If she did leave, at least we can steal her hiding spot."

My mouth goes dry and I shake my head. "That's not a very good idea," I stammer out. "What if they come back?"

"They're not going to come back," grumbles Haven, but she gives into my idea. "Fine. Where do you want to go, then?"

"Let's go back to where we were before, in the lollipop forest." I smile. "We might have some better luck scouting out in there."

"Kinton, no. Stop. We need some place to sleep for tonight."

"Can we just go back to the lollipop forest?" I plead, clenching my hands into fists, knowing that nothing would ever come out of them. I'm too good to punch Haven, of course. She's like a sister to me. "It's important."

Haven sighs heavily, eyes flickering behind me like there's somebody there. She looks around in tenseness. "Fine. Only for a little bit. Whatever the reason, you wouldn't put us in danger, I know that much. You're too much of a coward."

"Great!" I exclaim giddily, turning around quickly and thus, spilling out the contents of our spliced backpack to the ground.

"Kinton, be careful," she grumbles, stooping low to pick up our supplies. "You promised me you would be."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," I mumble into my hand. "I just got too excited and moved too fast."

But she's suddenly silent, turning the items over and over in her hands. "Kinton… where's our thermos?"

"Is it in the bag?"

She checks, her movements jerky and frightened. "N-No… Kinton, this is bad. We haven't seen any other signs of water, we need that thermos!"

"We must have dropped it when we sliced the pack open last time," I gasp, my spine locking rigidly.

"Back by the dolls?!" Haven's voice is a mixture of fear and amusement.

"Yes!"

Haven plunks the items back into the backpack and secures it again, folding the top brim over the bottom. She frowns lightly, exhaling and shaking her head. "Fine. We have to go back there to get the thermos. But God, Kin, promise me that you'll be careful. We can't stand to lose anything else."

"I swear on my life," I reply eagerly.

Together we walk back to the lollipop forest.

It's not long before I can see the vague silhouettes of the dolls. But unlike last time, they're closer and their eyes are illuminated in particular. One doll turns directly to us, its bluish button eyes staring out at everything, and yet, nothing.

"Creepy as hell," Haven breathes.

"Agreed." I swallow.

We hide behind a massive lollipop trunk that's collapsed on the pillowy ground and move to the right, fumbling around in the darkness. Once or twice I pull on Haven's ponytail and she yelps quietly, then quickly claps a hand over her own mouth as she checks to see if the dolls are listening.

"There's the thermos!"

I check, my eyes wide with glee – until I realize that the thermos is directly underneath the mass of dolls. And another check proves that they're slowly but surely marauding closer and closer to our hiding spot.

"We have to run!"

"But the thermos, Kinton!"

All of a sudden, hot breath on the back of my neck makes my blood run cold. I look at Haven out of the side of my eye, hoping desperately that maybe she's trying to trick me. She isn't.

I whirl around, gasping for air, and come face-to-face with the person behind me.

**Shael Havern, District Ten**

Kinton's eyes grow wide.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," I hiss out, placing both of my hands on his trembling shoulders. "We're not here to hurt you, we actually need help, too."

He looks back and forth at Tethys and me, and then he stares at the dagger in my hand. "How do I know that this isn't a trick? What if you guys turn on us?"

"You don't know that, but do you really have a choice?" I growl out, my eyes flickering over to the advancing dolls. "We need to combat the mutts, you know, and it doesn't look like two people against an army will be much help. We're better off with us four. Just for now, a temporary truce."

"A temporary truce," repeats Haven, nodding slightly. "That sounds fine. But just for now."

At my side, Tethys smiles and raises his spear. "I've got this, Shael's got her dagger, what do you two have?"

"Knives," replies Haven, sliding out a couple shimmering blades from the backpack. She smiles slightly, giving her ally two and keeping two for herself. "I think we're ready."

We all rise to face the dolls, which are closer than ever. I can see the listless gazes that they give us, paired with their threaded mouths chanting out those redundant words, and it honestly gives me chills.

"Go!" Tethys screams out from at my side.

I lunge forward, my dagger slicing cleanly into the shoulder of the ragdoll in front of me. The green eyes flash red and the mouth turns downward. Her chanting is abruptly stopped before it picks up again, the words coming faster and faster.

Her cloth arms reach out towards me, and I punch them away, surprisingly heavier than they appear. My dagger shoots out and barely misses the doll's right hand.

Next to me, Tethys has already speared down his doll, its porcelain head shattered, and has moved on to help me. Obviously, having a longer weapon is more efficient. He can throw or stab from a ways away, and avoid getting into the heat of things.

His spear splices through the side of the ragdoll and, eyes darkening into a sickly shade of blackish blue, the doll falls to its knees.

"Move on!" Tethys hollers.

I run out, ducking a slap given by a towering plastic doll with stick straight blond hair and an artificial smile, and I promptly into Kinton.

He shrieks out, his backpack hurtling through the air and dropping his supplies as it goes. But one thing attracts the attention of all of the dolls; the binky, glowing brightly through the blackened night sky, plunges somewhere in the forest and allows every single one of the dolls, attacking or milling about, to start slowly meandering after it.

"Grab the supplies! Grab the supplies!" Haven's voice is strangled, and her eyes are wide with desperation. I stand back and allow Kinton and Haven to run about in a frenzy, stooping to pick up their provisions along the pillowed ground.

Tethys pulls on my sleeve, and we take this opportunity to silently slip away.

"That was useful," he comments as we start jogging away, thus upping my heart rate even more. "Now we know what the baby pacifier actually does."

"Right," I reply, nodding slightly. "That's good, really good. It's helpful for the future with the dolls."

"The Careers seem to be a bit dysfunctional," he jokes around, a smile appearing on his face as he sprints along. "Maybe the dolls are actually our biggest enemy."

"Who knows?" I smirk quietly, stopping briefly to catch my breath. "Can't underestimate anybody in these Games."

"That's for sure."

**Eidra Nevett, District Two**

"I hope that you die— _now_."

Carisa's advancing on Soren, his body squirming unpleasantly as he backs away slowly. The rest of us sort of hang back, watching with wide eyes as the corpse of Halcyon silently lies, eyes wide open and staring at the heavens, not ten yards away.

"Just let him alone, Carisa," I say loudly, suddenly hoping for Soren to get the upper hand.

When I first met the girl from One, it was great. She was cute and gung-ho and she seemed like a good friend – a temporary one. I kept that in mind. It could never be permanent. Just an ally for a short period of time.

Carisa was clingy after the first day. She went to me with her problems and complaints, thinking that I'd be there to support her whenever. Needless to say, it got annoying really quickly. Even now I find myself wishing against her. She might still think of me as a good friend, but, well, I consider her something else.

So, yeah. I'm on Soren's side for right now.

Carisa glowers, briefly taking her eyes off of the lithe boy to shoot daggers at me. "No, I can't let him get away," she barks hot-headedly. "Now be a nice person and throw me a weapon, will you?"

I comply for the sake of hoping this won't ruin our 'friendship', slowly but surely bending to the ground, fumbling around with the handle of a pale pink machete and standing back up. Next to me, Juno inhales sharply, toying with her straggly red hair.

"Are you really going to do it?" she whispers uncomfortably.

I glance between her and Carisa's death stare. "Do I really have a choice?" I groan quietly, my hand shaking as I throw Carisa the machete, zinging it towards her with force. Maybe I'm hoping that it'll take out her leg or something.

But no, it merely slices into her hand and she erupts in a roar, toppling to the ground with the blade buried deeply into her hand. Her eyes grow wide as she takes in the quickly trickling crimson blood, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Eidra!" she shrieks out, turning towards me with not an angry expression, but one of betrayal and sorrow. "Why would you do this? God, it _hurts_!"

The boy behind her, seizing this opportunity, is quick to get up to his feet and dash away, his eyes feral as his feet clap against the soft ground. Carisa's quick to notice and lets out a long, wounded howl.

"Don't just stand there like fools!" she screams out at us. "Go! Follow him! Kill him!"

Unsurprisingly, nobody moves, and Merritt even steps forward with the same solemn expression that we'd previously made fun of. "We're not your puppets," he growls out. "If you want him dead, do it yourself. And that's what you wanted in the first place, wasn't it? You wanted to slaughter Soren yourself. You wanted the kill all to yourself and nobody else."

Carisa stares at him with tears bubbling up in her eyes and her hand shaking. "Fine," she spits out, her lips quivering. "B-But at least help me patch up my hand."

"I didn't mean to, honestly," I say to her calmly, knowing that she'd forgive me no matter what. "I guess I threw it too hard."

She laughs hoarsely, tears streaming down her tanned cheeks. "Too hard? You cut open my hand. I'm pretty sure it's broken. And oh, how convenient – it's my right hand."

"Listen, she didn't mean to, so just lay off her," echoes Juno from behind me, coming to my defense in a heartbeat. "It's just an injury, it's not like she threw it into your skull."

I grin slightly as Juno and I move away from Carisa. Wraith's already fetching bandages for her. "Wow, Juno. Thanks, I wasn't expecting that."

"Anything," she replies with ease, "Anything for a friend."

Friend. There's that word again, bouncing in my mind with the dark knowledge that it's not – it can't be – permanent. In a short time, one or both of us will fall under the influence of death and her sisters. This friendship, relationship, alliance, whatever Juno and I are? It can't happen.

"Thanks," I repeat, this time on edge. I offer her a brittle smile and move over to the Cornucopia, unscrewing the cap of a water bottle and taking a sip.

Since when did the Hunger Games become about personal sacrifices and relationships instead of simply bringing your sword down on another person's life?

**Maysa Barric, District Nine**

"Okay, new game plan. So we've lost Ezra. We can rebound from that." Maya looks me square in the eye, dead serious in telling me this. "We can avenge him."

"Yeah, I was aware of that the first time you told me." I glare playfully, sticking out my tongue and rolling onto my side. "Can we just get some rest now? I want to go to sleep."

She sighs, staring at the fluffy pink ground. The mantra in the background continues, slowly making me tenser and tenser. "I expect it to be early morning by now," Maya says, averting her eyes to the sky full of stars. She smiles, her eyes flickering over each one in turn.

"I'd think so. The faces showed up a couple hours ago, at the least."

"My point exactly. Maybe some rest would be good for us, anyways." Maya yawns dramatically and stretches out onto the ground. "Do you want to take first watch or should I?"

"I will, to be honest I still don't trust you."

Maya giggles light-heartedly. "All in due time, girlfriend."

And with that, she's out like a light.

It's fun for the first ten minutes, gazing around in the dark and poking at the ground and listening to Maya's silly little snores. _Inhale, wheeze, putt, putt, putt, putt. Inhale, wheeze, putt, putt, putt, putt. _It's also delightful to tickle her neck and watch as she smacks her lips and tries to swat my hand away in her sleepy state.

But after the fourth time of repeating the process, I'm officially bored and left alone with my thoughts to cope. Questions plague my thoughts like annoying mosquitos.

What would happen if Ezra had survived?

No. I immediately shake my head, drawing my knees to my chest and resting my chin on them. I can't think like that. Dwelling in the past has gotten me nowhere so far. And plus, wouldn't this be Maya's thing to think about? She liked him a lot more than I did.

A sigh emerges from my lips and I stare out listlessly into the night sky, the rose tendrils of a beginning sunrise just creeping onto the horizon. Beautiful, some might say. The only thing I can think of is how bittersweet it is, for something so spectacular to be placed in such a horrid place.

And the chantings, too…

"Let's go over here. There's nobody here, I swear!"

My heart begins thumping briskly, and my ears perk up, straining for the next voice. But it remains to be the same one, a female one.

"Hurry up! We need to lose them!"

"Cayley Torelli," I mouth to myself, suddenly trembling in fear. Gulping for air, I grab the strap of the backpack and rise to my feet, a knife rattling in my hand. I kick Maya's side, forcing her awake.

"What?" she yelps rather loudly.

A gasp escapes me and I grab her wrist, helping her to her feet. "C-Cayley Torelli," I stammer out, fear getting the better of me. "And it sounds like there's somebody with her."

Maya's face splits into a determined expression. "Well, what are we waiting for?" she barks out. "Let's go get them! They're younger and smaller, we can take them. One closer step to going home, right? Hurry, Maysa!"

She slides two knives out of her sleeves and I shakily point to the direction where I heard the voice. "Maya, I don't know…"

But she's already careering towards the source of Cayley's voice, and with my heart in my throat, I tear after her.

It's not hard to find Cayley and her friend, actually. Their silhouettes are frozen images in the misty air, eyes widened and teeth bared. The little one, the girl from Six, immediately tries to run away, but I manage to snag onto her braid with the tips of my fingers and grab a good hold, thus stopping her.

"What do we do now?" hisses Cayley to Aria, her own hands shaking. The glimmer of a pink dagger shines very faintly.

Aria shrugs.

"I didn't want to do this," Maya whispers out, her eyes glancing over the trembling girls, "but worst comes to worst, and, well, you two just happened to be the closest two."

"D-Don't kill us," whimpers Cayley.

She doesn't even try to fight back as Maya swiftly grabs her wrists and swoops them together. Her breath hitches and her eyes mist up, but that's it. A single tear trembles in the crook of her eye before slipping down her cheek.

And Maya's wrist flicks neatly.

The knife enters Cayley's chest not with precision and drive, but with a shaking hand and a suddenly shell-shocked Maya. Cayley's eyes widen and a shrill scream erupts from her throat. The little girl from Six suddenly stops vibrating in my hands and remains very still, her lips quivering.

Maya withdraws the handle of the knife and stabs Cayley again, provoking another animalistic howl from the girl. Again, again, again, until finally there are five holes in Cayley's chest, all bleeding out black, and she flops to her knees.

The cannon's resounding blast echoes eerily throughout the arena.

Maya looks at me, her eyes watery. "I did it, I guess," she says shakily, forcing a laugh. She wipes her eyes on her sleeve and tosses the knife half-heartedly to the ground as Cayley's limp corpse is swallowed by the earth.

"Congratulations," I reply bitterly, my grip on Aria loosening as I move to embrace my tearful ally.

What I don't count on is the girl quickly worming out of my grasp, swooping down to collect the knife, and jetting out of the place.

I gasp. "W-What happened?!"

"Come on!" Maya barks, obviously overcoming her tears quickly. She motions to Aria and her legs move furiously. "We need to get her! It's one step closer to going home!"

Home…

As I run, a lump in my throat and my eyelashes bunching together with tears, the word echoes in my mind. Home. I've never really felt at home.

What's the point of going?

**Juno Verdet, District Four**

"Good night."

Carisa, Eidra, Wraith, and Merritt are now down and sleeping – meanwhile, I'm groggy from a night of wholesome sleep and dreams. Happy dreams, actually, most of them revolving around me and a mountain of chocolate and donuts. They kind of seem out of place for such an arena.

Brux is next to me, chattering away about a fable he made up when he was littler. He's endearing in a way, when he's not bragging about his past accomplishments and all that truck. He can be a little vulnerable.

And I, personally, feel rather honored that I'm the one to experience it.

"I wonder how tomorrow's gonna go down," I say aloud.

"Full of death and anxiety," Brux replies deviously. "Gonna make everybody's throats ache, huh?"

"Most definitely," I reply with a tinge of disgust creeping into my voice. Brux notices and laughs, heartily clapping me on the shoulder.

"I joke, I joke," he coughs out. "But, no, honestly. It's always fascinating to see who falls and who survives into the next day, especially when we, personally, know the tributes."

"We are the tributes," I reply.

"Well, obviously, but I'm just saying…" he trails off, gesturing and trying to make up for his lost words with his frantic movements. "We know the people in the arena. We know what it's like to be them. It's going to be so much more fascinating…"

A howl explodes in the distance.

Merritt whips his head up and Wraith leaps to his feet, stumbling a bit. Next to me, Brux stiffens, before smirking and grabbing his crossbow.

"It's show time, baby girl," he hisses out to me.

I stifle a laugh, making my way from my sitting position as suddenly, into our circle tears the tiny girl from Six, her black hair flying and her eyes shining, wide with fright and tears. Following her with ragged breathing and heavy footsteps are the two girls from Five and Nine, the two with the nearly identical names. Maysa and Maya?

The girl from Nine notices us first, grabbing the other girl's elbow and gasping in fright. That's when they pull out blades from their sleeves mechanically, fear and tension rising in the air.

There are no words exchanged. Merritt simply lunges forward.

It takes a second to realize that though he aimed for the Nine girl in particular, the scrappy looking one, the two girls have the upper hand. It's quick. Sloppy. Limbs fly around in a flurry, and Brux rushes in, but he's too late.

Merritt's pike impales the thin, pale neck of Nine.

The Five girl stumbles back, gawping and gasping for air. "M-Maysa," she cries out, reaching for the girl's deadened hand as the body slips into the ground, taking the weapon with it.

It's that quick, the death of Maysa.

"That was wacky," I murmur to Wraith beside me, and he nods briefly, not caring to reply to me before striding forward with his kopis in his hand, obviously getting ready to ambush the Five girl.

What he doesn't expect is for the girl to lash out, a scream screeching out through her gritted teeth and for her to swing a blade at him, and then two. The second one hits. Strikes him right through the abdomen, though her intentions must have been a different place.

Lucky for Wraith, he's a little _podgy_ around the middle.

He withdraws it slowly, side by side with Five as she wheezes for air, clutching two more blades, gasping as it slides out of his stomach, and lets it drop to the ground.

"W-Wraith!" I speak out, inhaling quickly as he lets out an enraged roar and charges the girl.

The girl swings. And this time, she doesn't miss.

The knife blade swipes across his pale neck, and it's that quick and messy. It's not drawn out, it's not precise, but it's enough to force him down and into the cloudy ground.

The cannon confirms his rapid demise.

She runs, but nobody follows her. Maybe it's out of grief. Maybe it's sanity restraining us from laughing casually, thinking '_this girl is such an idiot'_, and dashing in her wake. Maybe it's humanity, out of respect and sorrow for her fallen ally.

Whatever it is, it keeps me away from her.

And maybe I like it that way.

**A/N: Human by Christina Perri.**

_**17th- Cayley Torelli, District Eight. A blade to the torso.**_

_**16th- Maysa Barric, District Nine. A pike to the neck.**_

_**15th- Wraith Elvery, District Two. A blade to the neck.**_

**Rose, Cayley was pretty slick. I enjoyed writing for her, actually. She was easy to comprehend and her voice came out clearly. It might not have been as strong as some of the others, but it was there, however inconspicuous it was. Sadly, every girl has their breaking point.**

**Claire, Maysa was truly something else. She was bitter and toughened while maintaining a sense of pride and dignity, and I respected that. It made her regal, almost. The death of her sister shaped and molded her, and yet, I felt like I wasn't doing her enough justice.**

**Dracones, Wraith was admittedly not the most orthodox Career, nor the most likable. He was realistic, though, no matter how out-of-the-box he was. Unfortunately, his personality was lost in the more brazen of his alliance's, though he will be missed.**

**And so ends the first day/night/whatever! Hope you guys enjoyed. I just got braces, so while my mouth is steaming in pain, at least y'all got a chapter out of it, you sly dogs!**

**Question time *OW MY BRACES HURT***

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on each death?**

**Who do you want to die before the final 12?**

**Who do you think will die before the final 12?**

**General thoughts?**


	15. Bloody Mary

.

_**I won't cry for you; I won't crucify the things you do.**_

**Merritt Cordeau, District Four**

I stare after the girl as she runs away, my pulse quivering with adrenaline. I grip the handle of my pike, resisting the urge to chuck it after her. Nobody else is moving; I'd be alone in my efforts. I don't fare well with being alone, really.

"She put up a good fight," Eidra mutters. "She made out like a bandit…"

"I knew she was a tricky one," I say, still gazing after her retreating form, which is currently slipping into the lollipop forest. "That training score, and her knives…"

"We need to eliminate her as fast as possible," Brux speaks out. His pale eyes flicker over our small group and he shrugs. "What? I'm being honest. We let her get away. If we were to chase after her now, it'd be a shot in the dark."

"Brux is right," Juno sighs, agreeing. "We need to make a plan to get the stronger competitors out of our way. The Career packs in the past have all disbanded early on – and we're each other's largest competitors, so maybe if we split up we can take on the bigger threats before eventually getting to each other."

"What are you suggesting?" Carisa squeaks out, holding her hand tightly.

Juno's face is unreadable, a mask of both grimness and pity. "I'm suggesting that we split up… if at least just for a while. To hunt down the larger threats."

"And then, when everybody else is gone…" Brux's lips move, but his eyes are glassy.

"We turn on each other," I finish solemnly.

There's silence for at least a minute straight. Nobody wants to be the first to talk, yet nobody wants to stay in the group. I muster up the strength to speak out, being the mature person that I always have to be. "Sounds like a plan, then. Who's going with who?"

Eidra and Carisa both stare at me, turning their heads in perfect unison. "I'll go with Eidra," says the latter girl.

"And we can band together." Juno pokes my side and nods to Brux. "We'll be a good team…"

"Is this it, then?" Brux, always the composed one, suddenly looks pale and washed out. "We're splitting up? For good?"

"I guess this is for good," Juno murmurs. Her eyelashes flutter and she stoops to the ground, retrieving her trident. "Everyone grab a backpack and we can start moving on out."

_A very humane way of tearing the group apart_, I muse to myself as I move towards the Cornucopia, bending low and picking up a backpack. I just start to slip something in it – a packet of dried fruit – when, out of the blue, the clean sound of a blade whistles through the air.

Whipping my head around, I face Carisa, her lips pursed as she retrieves another knife with her good hand, her aim obviously lousy. _She's not being the smartest_, I growl out to myself, my hand instinctively reaching for my pike.

Brux and Juno are staring at me, though, with eyes that are beseeching. "It's not worth it!" Juno shouts, hand wrapped around the handle of her trident, a satchel looped over her shoulder. "Hurry up, Merritt!"

I glance once at them, my mind reeling. My eyes then flicker to Carisa and Eidra, the latter watching me with widened eyes. Carisa's hand, despite crusting over with blood, holds her knives, while the other one throws another one lamely.

I surge forward, not even thinking.

Squealing in surprise, Carisa reels backwards as the pike shoots out where her head previously was. She'd ducked right in the nick of time, luckily for her.

"Merritt, stop it!" screams Juno from the outskirts, and Brux joins in her panicked screeching. I don't care. I block it all out, the only sound available to me being my own frantic blood pulsing in my brain.

Another swing of my pike goes directly into Carisa's shoulder, sinking into soft flesh and I feel the crush of bone and tendons in the blade. A howl erupts from her mouth, a terrible sound that makes me wince.

"You shouldn't have attacked me," I breathe out, withdrawing my pike, ready for another attack.

But something stops me.

A sharp pain in my back – in between my shoulder blades, specifically.

I gasp, wheezing for air, and shove my hand behind my back, blindly clawing towards the source of the pain. My fingers close around a handle, slim and cold.

Eidra stands behind me solemnly as I topple to the ground, gritting my teeth in the cold, cold, cold pain.

"You shouldn't attack my ally." She looks at Brux and Juno briefly, deciding that they're not threats, before she grabs another knife from Carisa, albeit roughly.

"It was…" she pauses. "…_Interesting_ to know you, to say the least."

Her blade sinks into my chest.

And my eyes flutter shut for the last time, a groan hovering between my lips.

_This is oblivion…_

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

Merritt's stone cold body dissolves into the earth.

Juno, beside me, stands in horror and shock. Her dark eyes swim with tears, and her eyelids close briefly.

"Hurry, Juno." I poke the blunt edge of my crossbow into her back. "We need to leave. They'll come after us next, and we don't want that, do we?"

Her lips tremble as she watches Eidra scamper over to Carisa, who still has the wound bleeding out, the scream still echoing from her throat. After a moment she nods, wiping away a tear, and quickly turns away.

I don't know how long we walk. It could be mere minutes, it could be an hour. But all I know is that we stop once we find something odd – a sparkling water source just beyond a gingerbread house neighborhood. It's _pink_.

Juno bends over. I watch as she dips her fingers in the shimmering magenta water and brings it to her nose. "It's sticky."

"What's it taste like?"

She flicks her tongue out and smacks her lips a couple of times, a sudden wave washing over her shoes. "It's really sweet… Kind of like soda."

I kick the ground, but instead of the usual cushy cloud, there's… sand? Powdery, chalk white sand.

"Look, the ground's different." I stoop down low so I'm on my knees, and then take a handful of the stuff. I know what sand feels like, and it sure doesn't feel like this.

"Is that sugar?" Juno asks.

I lick my hand, a saccharine taste flooding my mouth in the form of these odd little white crystals. "It is indeed."

Juno sits back on her heels, wiping her sticky fingers on the pink jumpsuit. "A candy beach. That's sure gotta be healthy."

I smile, turning to the gingerbread houses aligned neatly on the shore. "A beach," I repeat. "Those must be beach houses, then."

And indeed, as I glance over these houses compared to the landlocked ones, they appear different. They have high porches supported by thin spokes, even with little paper umbrellas printed with colorful patterns, much like the ones the chefs placed in smoothies back on the train.

"Beach houses," echoes Juno. Her big eyes glance back to me. "Should we?"

"I don't see why not."

Slinging my pack onto my shoulder, creating footsteps in the clean sugar sand, I patter my way up a hill, searching for a door for the beach house we're closest to. It's hidden beyond some vines, swirling with strange leaves and stems, like it, too, is made out of something artificial.

I'm not taking any chances. Taking a thin knife out of a pocket, I slice the vines away and push open the door.

The house is really dark. Juno's footsteps and hushed breathing behind me are all that keep me moving forward.

Feeling my way through the darkness, I feel for a light switch, but it's Juno who beats me to it. With a small "aha!" she flips the little knob on.

A scream promptly follows.

Once I whip my head around to see what she's staring at, petrified, a howl arises out of me from my gut, animalistic and guttural.

Three towering, bloodstained dolls with stitched, broken, _red_ smiles sit at a kitchen table. The light makes their eyelids flick open, revealing pale, lifeless eyes.

And then, as if on cue, the chanting begins.

"_Tribute, tribute, t-t-t-t-tribute."_

"Get out!" shrieks Juno, shoving the butt of her trident into my back, propelling me forward. The door pops up right in front of my face, and I smack into it, my nose cracking with a snap.

As crimson blood rapidly begins to flow out of both nostrils, I fumble for the door knob… but to my utter shock, it's _gone_. It lies at my feet, smashed. I must have crushed it with my crossbow.

"B-Brux, what do we do now?" Juno's eyes well up with tears for the second time today, and she points a trembling finger at the dolls, which are slowly standing up, politely pushing in their chairs.

It takes me two seconds to turn to face her, and one moment to slap her across the face. "Toughen up!" I bark, surprising even myself. My hand stings from the slap. "This is what you've trained for, man! Your life's work! Don't let it go to waste now!"

Juno stares at me with tearful eyes. "But I'm scared…"

"You _can't_ be scared, Juno!" My voice cracks but I persist. "You're the lone represent of District Four! You need to make us proud, make _them_ proud! You can't let yourself go like this! You're _all_ they _have_!"

A doll leans over Juno's shoulder, its mouth splintering open to reveal a mouth of cotton, with jagged, yellowing teeth sticking out at odd angles. Juno's eyes widen, and, much like with Carisa earlier, her mouth opens to shriek, but before any noise comes out, I clap a hand over her mouth, give her a quick thump on the head, and quickly pull away to swing my crossbow at the doll.

Its soft, fabric head quickly reveals that on the inside, it's just a porcelain ball. It quickly splits apart, showering us with sharp shards.

Juno, a brave face plastered upon her, steps up to the second doll, and whacks the prongs of the trident right on its head, making a sickening, hollow noise. Once again, the head dissolves into debris, and I throw an arm over my eyes to protect them.

The last doll stands in front of us, its beaded eyes glinting in the beam of the light bulb.

It reaches a slim, long arm out to the side, and its long fingers close around the handle of a kitchen knife, arranged carefully on the table next to a small plate of food.

"Oh my God," I whisper.

Juno's paler than the moon.

I stare down at my curved crossbow, unsure of whether to bash the mutt over the head, or to let Juno take the reigns on this one. Originally, if it were yesterday, or even an hour ago, I'd have smashed the doll right where it hurts. But today, I'm not sure. Juno's showed me how vulnerable she can be. Maybe it's my turn to step up my game, and protect her a little bit.

I step forward and swing my crossbow.

**Braxton Malory, District Nine**

I sip out of my water bottle before tucking it neatly back in my backpack. I gently lean my head back against the slide and sigh.

The playground that I've taken up residence in has so far shown no promise. It's large, and there's some great big plastic tube thing that's in the center, full of platforms that drop off into slides and poles and the sort. It stretches really high up, and I climbed it once or twice to survey my surroundings, but it's been the same old repetitive pattern of lollipops and fluffy carpeting.

_Nothing's_ happened, and I hate it.

I exhale again, feeling the air breeze by my lips. It's not that I miss Griff and Cade – they were nice to know, but I'm not going to let somebody else's coffin rest on my conscience. For one person to win, twenty-three others fall down. And it was to be expected - I mean, they were some of the youngest kids here, and also not the brightest.

That doesn't mean I'm not sad for them. I am a little mournful over their deaths. They _were_ nice guys to hang around, potential friends.

But like I said before, I can't get too attached.

I'm aware that I caused their deaths, in some sort of way. I stood by as they were impaled with that pike. Their lifeless eyes faded away, and I just kind of stood there. I have a tendency to back away from the more important parts of life.

I know that for a fact.

A slight tapping on my shoulder makes my heart race, but before I turn my head, I screw my eyes shut and my thoughts fly. _Okay. A potential killer wouldn't tap you on the shoulder. He would slaughter you. It's safe to turn around. It's safe…_

I slowly lift my head up from my hands and stare.

"Hi, Braxton!"

My heart drops.

It's _Cade_, shimmering but otherwise grinning like he did before he died. His eyes are vibrant, full of life, and he wears a similar outfit to mine, but it's bright red, crimson red.

He waves again, knitting his brow in slight confusion. Like he's confused why I'm not grinning, and embracing him, and ruffling his hair with a fist and laughing.

_This… this isn't real._

"You're not real." My voice wavers.

He's a _mutt_.

Whatever he is, he looks hurt. "I'm right here in front of you, Braxton. Can't you see? I'm here. I'm not moving anywhere."

My words come in stammers. "Y-You're not real. You d-d-died!"

Cade frowns. He reaches his hand out to me and it glimmers, making my eyes hurt when I stare at it. "Do I look unreal to you? Don't be a jerk, Braxton."

His words hurt.

I rapidly get up, scrambling backwards before I promptly fall on my back. My breathing becomes rapid as the shiny Cade advances, eyes widening and lips pursing. "Braxton, please…"

"You're not _real_!"

This time, there's no stuttering. My voice is guttural and ready to crack. Cade's face, once so chipper and clear, is clouded. I can't see what he's feeling. He turns away, and when he talks this time, his voice is muted.

"I can't see why you aren't trusting in me, Braxton." The muttation that is Cade scowls, dramatically crossing his arms over his wiry chest. "I told you once. I told you twice. You denied me both times."

I clamber to my feet, making sure never to take my gaze off of him as he strides forward slowly. "Stop it," I pant raggedly, my fingers closing around the loop of my pack.

"_Braxton_." His eyes are stern, his lips pouted nastily. "Just give in…"

My hands form fists, tight little balls that wouldn't be afraid to throw a punch. "Get _out_ of my head!" I scream out.

The mutt glowers, uncrossing his arms and drifting ever closer to me, but instead of running away like I should, I'm rooted to my spot in petrification. He dips his head to meet my ear and breathes out, his mechanical breath hot and wet on my ear. "You can't do anything anymore, Braxton. You are useless without Griff and me. Admit it."

"That's not true," I choke out, my hands trembling at my sides.

"You know it is." The muttation pops out in front of me, his lips peeling into a slow, deliberate smile. I can't stop staring at him, at his blood red suit and his shimmering skin. "You can't function on your own."

"Oh, yeah?" I challenge, voice wavering but still going.

"Most certainly."

I cast my backpack to the side, almost offering a dare for him to charge me. He raises his eyebrows in mock fright, but I take that as his weakness. I careen forward, catching the mutt off guard. We tumble to the ground, the cloudy stuff cushioning our fall. His fist juts out to catch my jaw and I moan, clutching at my head.

I roll off of him, skittering around like a bug on the ground as I try to get a grip. Mutt-Cade attempts to grab my knee; I kick his nose easily, but it doesn't feel like flesh and blood.

His face feels like hard, cold, plastic.

I shriek, barreling my foot into his head over and over again, never once stopping to see if he's had enough. No cannon will sound, I know that much. He's _not_ real.

My foot hurts when I stop booting him. His face is no more; all I can see is shredded, thin tan plastic, still shimmering brightly as it barely conceals a rounded plastic skull, dented in multiple places.

I grab my backpack and stride away, shaken.

**Aria Verselis, District Six**

It's cold outside.

I stare desolately out into the dreary afternoon sky, the grey clouds hovering over the arena and cloaking the brightness of the colors in a dull shade.

Not pretty.

Pulling my knees into my chest and resting my chin on top, I watch from my perch on the beach house balcony as, a house over, Juno and Brux flip on lights, exploring their own building. It's been kind of fun to watch over them. It's like observing bacteria in a petri dish – you know you're safe, but you don't quite know what the objects are doing.

I wrap a lock of black hair around my hand, staring out as Juno pokes her head inquisitively out of a window, her red hair cascading around her freckled face, lips pouted. She quickly darts back in after a moment, as if even she's nervous to be outside.

The arena has that effect on people.

I'm not sure. Cayley and me never encountered anything other than the dolls – and those were freaky enough, _thank_ you. No mutts other than those, and I think that's the way I want it to remain.

But that was back when I had Cayley. A friend, an ally.

Wiggling my fingers and making the ends of my hair dance, I shrug my shoulders almost carelessly. What's the point in staying here? I don't belong on my own. I can barely unscrew a cap of water without my fingers trembling. I _need_ somebody. Anybody.

"Aria?"

A very familiar voice from behind me makes my heart stop for a moment. My eyelids fly open and I whip around, not even daring to lose one second imagining things.

There stands Cayley, beaming and waving one shimmering hand.

My breath hitches and I stare at her as she grins down at me, my pulse thundering. I don't even begin to hope that this is real. I reach out a hand, stroking her soft, sparkling skin, staring at her crimson outfit.

"Yeah, it really is me." She nods, flipping her silky dark hair, her lips perpetually lifted up at the corners. "I know, seeing is believing. Might be hard to believe at first, but…" She shrugs. "Hey, gotta start somewhere, right?"

I stare, standing up and stroking her hand. It's ice cold.

Cayley laughs slightly, shrugging. "Hey, are you gonna welcome me or not?"

Crystalline drops sting my eyes, but I don't try to brush them away. I let them fall freely, dripping down my cheeks and splattering onto the pale pink jumpsuit. Can I afford to trust her, whomever she is? Would the Gamemakers target me, an innocent girl who's done nothing to harm anybody? They've done it before, but…

But this is Cayley standing in front of me. And she was my friend.

I smile, taking her hand through my tears and offering a nod.

Before I know what's happening, the sparkly Cayley laughs, but this isn't tinkling and carefree like it was before her death. This laugh is filled with malice and deviousness, and her eyes flash red to match her jumpsuit.

"Wonderful," she cackles. "You know what I love most about this world, Aria?"

Her grip tightens around my hand, smushing my fingers. Attempting to wrench them free from her clutch, I shake my head.

"People are so easy to _trick_." Her eyes glow and she laughs again, her lips peeling apart to reveal jagged, sharp teeth. I suck in a breath, my lips quivering. I try to free my hand in a more desperate attempt, but it's in vain. Her hold on my hand is really, really constricting. "And you know what's the greatest thing about you, Aria?"

I whimper, my head shaking once more.

"You're so oblivious and naïve… you'll believe _anything_, just because you want a friend." She chuckles. "In the arena, they don't give you friends, Aria. They give you a choice. You can do, or die."

Goosebumps prickle over my skin and I squirm, trying to get free. I even try to use my voice to say a few precious words – "_S-Stop it_!"

Cayley leans in close to me, unaffected by my movements. "You can't escape the arena!" She shouts, her voice fluid and easy, yet loud and intimidating. "In your thoughts, words, and actions, nothing will be easy, you stay in the arena forever, and you _like_ it!"

Her screaming never stops. My hand slips from hers in sweat, and I sink to the ground, hands pressed against my ears firmly, trying to block out her shrieking rant.

I don't know when the pain starts, the actual physical pain.

The only thing that I'm aware of, moments after my eyes have been shut to the world and my ears are ringing in agony, is something ripping into my side. I can barely muster to look at the mutt that is Cayley, hair rippling as she dips her head down to my hip, teeth digging into my flesh. She tears out a chunk and goes back for more, more, more, and all I can comprehend is shrieking, crying, and torture.

It takes forever to her to finish up biting into my side, and I can literally see my stomach or intestines or some internal organ jutting out the side. I don't fight back – I can't battle back. I'm done. I have no more fight left in me… I am nothing.

I stare up with defiant eyes at Cayley, the girl who betrayed me.

And then the pain overpowers me.

My eyes take in the sights of the arena – the mysterious pink smoke, the border of the balcony, and the grey sky.

And then, my eyelids slide shut for the last time.

I've given into little things during my life, but I give into death. Willingly.

_Boom._

**A/N: Bloody Mary by Lady Gaga.**

_**14th- Merritt Cordeau, District Four. A knife to the back.**_

_**13th- Aria Verselis, District Six. Killed by reincarnation.**_

**Immy, I liked Merritt. Like, a lot. I bounced the idea in my head of him becoming victor over and over, imagining the outcome and the development that he would undergo – but something stopped me. I'm not sure what it was, but yeah, please just know that he was so good that I kept thinking of him as my victor up until a while ago. Thanks for him!**

**Davi, Aria was my bae. She was everyone's bae. Everybody liked Aria and her beliefs, her little selective mutism bit and her personality. Was it as strong as some of the others? Most certainly not, but in my opinion, that's what made her a standout – she was normal, a sweet little girl who I could relate to. That's what made her special. Thank you for her!**

**Yeah, another chapter, another two deaths. We're at the top twelve, finally – can you believe it ;O feels like yesterday I published this, getting excited over submissions and such!**

**Anywaaaaaaays, it's question time. Sit yourself down with a couple bars of Hersheys and a bottle of SmartWater and enjoy answering them, maybe? :):)**

**Questions:**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on each death?**

**Who do you think will die before Top 10?**

**Who do you want to die before Top 10?**


	16. Part of Me

_**.**_

_**Throw your sticks and your stones, throw your bombs and your blows.**_

_**But you're not gonna break my soul.**_

**Carisa Lenette, District One**

"Come on, Eidra," I hiss, tugging her hand and wincing as my own begins to tingle. "I saw him come through here, I _know_ it."

She wrinkles her nose and sighs. "Carisa, you don't have to seek him out. For all we know, that cannon could have been his."

"It wasn't," I insist, lips peeled back in a snarl. I jab a finger to the mist in the distance, piercing through the muggy air. "You and I both know that he's out there. He wants to kill me, he wouldn't die before that happens!"

Eidra wrenches her hand free from my own and gives me a sad frown. "Carisa, are you feeling alright?" she mutters. "This isn't like you. At least take some time to think this through?"

I roll my eyes at her suggestion. That's the thing – I _know_ what I want. I _know_ I sound stupid and mildly insane for demanding this. But I also know one thing, and that's the only thing that's crystal clear in my mind.

Soren must die.

I plod forward, leaping over a felled lollipop stick and scowling as I whip my head from side to side, searching for something – anything – that will lead me to Soren.

A small item on the ground alerts my senses.

I stoop low to the soft cloud and pluck it up. It's a small, glossy photograph. Somebody must have dropped their token. But as I inspect it closer – first the beaming little brunette girl, then the gawky, shy little boy in the background, clutching her hand… everything unfogs in my mind and I crumple the sorry picture up in my fist. His token was a picture of me and him, from, what, _ten_ years ago?!

"_Show yourself!"_ I screech, throwing my face to the sky, squinting my eyes shut, and clenching my teeth in the aftermath of my cry.

And, surprisingly, small, padding footsteps.

My eyelids fly open and I see Eidra immediately, her lips pursed in a melancholy manner as she watches something behind me.

I whip around.

There stands Soren.

And it's a rush – all the memories that he's caused come flying back to me in one shocking instant.

When he first met me, or rather, I met him… when he was getting bullied on the playground, so I tightened my pigtails and told the bullies off, before snatching up his hand and storming away so he could meet my own circle of friends.

A few years later, when he looked me right in the eye and told me how I was the most beautiful girl he had ever met.

And a few years after that, when words actually meant something and we tiptoed around them, instead opting to speak with actions and emotions. Every little movement that one of us made, was felt whole-heartedly by the other. We cried for each other, laughed with each other, and sometimes, we just sat and listened.

Then, when we were around sixteen, and I met _him_… Hollis. My prince. My boyfriend. My fiancé. He was the most handsome and romantic guy I've ever met, except for maybe Soren. Of course, I could have never had any feelings for Soren – he was like my soulmate, except in a brotherly form.

I remember one distinct night, when Soren took me out to dinner on a nice little plaza, and we feasted on breads and thick steaks, and I told him how I had met my prince. Something changed in his eyes.

It wasn't much later when it became clear that I was carrying Hollis's child. Awkward at first, but my parents, and Hollis's, were fully supportive. It was then when Hollis proposed to me, albeit a bit ashamedly.

I didn't see Soren for months. It was like he had vanished.

And then, one night, when Hollis was sleeping over at my house, a timid knock came at the door. I opened it, expecting my friend Rumira, or somebody similar. But no, it was Soren, my old friend.

I greeted him warmly, offering him a hot drink and an embrace. And he was so kind to me, asking about the baby, about Hollis, about everything. He listened to the baby's kicks, his eyes full of joy, and he couldn't stop talking and kissing my cheek.

Hollis came upstairs at one point, obviously not happy to see Soren. We stood at the top of the stairs arguing, and I told him multiple times about how good of a friend Soren was, like a near brother to me.

And Hollis jabbed a fist out at Soren – and Soren fought back, like he'd never had the chance to previously. He shoved Hollis against a wall, gritting his teeth and spitting out curses, telling him to protect me and my friends. Hollis replied by shoving his fists into Soren's eyes. And somehow, just by standing there, Soren, half-blinded and wheezing, shoved me, instead.

And I fell down the stairs.

And the baby, that Soren and I had loved so much, was killed.

And I _hate_ him for it.

"The perfect chance," I breathe, slipping my hand inside my pocket and giving the little baby bird figurine a squeeze. "The perfect chance for revenge…"

**Soren Valen, District One**

Cary stands before me, peering through her long eyelashes at me, lips quivering in a grimace. I want to hug her, embrace her, tell her it'll be alright… But something tells me that that would only end with me getting a knife slid into my back.

But I'd do anything for Cary.

Even die for her.

She strides forth and whacks me in the jaw, and I hear something crack under her hand. I ignore the pain and the tears that immediately well up in my eyes, instead opting to stare right into Cary's.

"Fight me," she growls, lowly at first but then louder. "_Fight_ me, you son of-"

My lip trembles and I swing my fist towards her hip. It only bounces off, thanks to the thick bone, but Cary takes this as a full-fledged attack. Baring her teeth and uttering a guttural cry, she leaps on top of me, making me topple to the ground and hitting my head, hard, on a lollipop pole.

I relax my muscles through my adrenaline, preparing for whatever torture she has in store for me.

She punches my cheek first off with her bad hand, panting quickly as she inspects the cracked skin, and then stares at me in confusion, head tilted to the side. "Why aren't you fighting _back_?!" she mutters lowly.

I blink, cold tears staining my cheeks.

She dismounts me and pulls me off the ground, eyebrows knit into a glare. "I want you to stand up like a man, not a coward, and fight me," she snarls.

I shake my head slowly, crossing my arms. "I could never hurt you…"

"You killed my child, didn't you?!" Cary howls, whipping her head so she can see Eidra, who stands silently off to the side, aware that she's about to witness something despicable. "The baby that I loved so, so, so, so much. You murdered her."

"I never meant to!" I cry out, my voice strong even though my tears flow freely. "Cary, please understand that… I just wanted to-"

"You wanted to get revenge on me," rages Cary, gnashing her teeth as she stomps, like a bull ready to charge. "You wanted payback for me, leaving you for Hollis!"

"Never!"

"Newsflash, Soren!" she screams. "You're dead to me already! You're dirt on the ground, to me! I _hate_ you, Soren! I hate, hate, hate you! And you know what, Soren? I'm going to kill you!"

She lets out a loud howl as she runs towards me, tackling my wiry body easily with her big-boned frame, and she sends punch after punch to my throat and face, sending spikes of pain up to my brain. One blow knocks some teeth out. I feel them hit the back of my throat before I swallow them.

"_Fight me, Soren_!" shrieks Cary.

_Whatever you wish, princess._

I raise my hand and slap her cheek, catching her off-guard in her horrendous fury, and using this to my advantage, I roll out from under her. Swinging my head up, and pulling myself off the ground, sending sears of agony throughout my body, I deliver a swift kick to her ribcage. Another kick goes right for her pretty little mouth, and she screams.

"You told me to fight you," I sniffle, wiping my nose and coming off with a mixture of blood, mucus, and torn flesh. "I'm only doing what you wanted…"

Cary laughs hoarsely, showing off teeth stained with crimson blood. "Always one to obey, weren't you," she mocks me.

_Only you_, I yearn to say.

She lolls her head back, making her bones crackle, before pushing herself slowly off the ground and punching my shoulder after she strides over to me. I stand silently, taking the abuse.

"Why am I even messing around with hand to hand combat?" Cary asks gruffly. She walks over to her bag, by Eidra's feet, and grabs a lance, thin and glimmering pink. Returning to me, and not once sparing a pitying look, she slams the butt of the lance over my head. I collapse to the ground, eyelids fluttering open.

The ripe sound of my flesh being cut open is music to my weary ears.

I can finally escape this world, and yet, still be true to Cary. My princess.

All of a sudden, as I'm just about to close my eyes to the harsh world, a gasp comes from Cary, and she topples to the ground. Her eyes are wide, tearful even, and she presses a cold hand to my cheek. "What have I done?" she breathes. "S-Soren?"

"I'm here," I croak out. I offer a small smile that's tainted by my own blood. "Are you finally getting it, Cary? All I ever wanted to do was protect you…"

Cary nods, lips quivering. "I'm so sorry," she sniffles, a tear dripping down her cheek, mingling with blood, and landing on my chin. "I didn't know…"

Without offering another word in my weakened state, I slide a knife out of my boot. The very knife that could have ended her life. My backup plan. The one thing that can bond us… for life.

She takes it, and is prompt to lie down next to me. "You were my prince, Soren… Now we can be together… forever… and I'm _so_ sorry…"

Resting her head on my chest, inhaling with a wavering breath, she reaches up to her throat and drags the knife across it, a bubbling cry rising before her eyes go glassy, and a cannon – _her_ cannon – erupts.

We'll never be apart now.

I twist my fingers in her soft hair and take my own last inhalation of air, before murmuring three words.

"I love you…"

_Boom._

**Tethys Acosta, District Eight**

The newest cannon, one right after the first, makes me tilt my head up and smile. I glance over at Shael. "Two more down."

"How pleasant," she responds, lifting her head from her hands. Her palms are tearstained, her eyes puffy and red. This is hitting her harder than I would have expected. She looks so strong on the outside. "I wonder who these were."

"We'll see in a bit, won't we?" I gesture to the grey sky, rapidly turning jet black. "I expect we'll see the faces of the dead soon."

"You're right." Shael nods, opting not to reply to me with much verve. To be honest, I don't blame her. If I were more attached to Cayley, and she died, I'd probably be mourning, too. But Shael? She was more attached to Cade than she let on. Probably reminded her of somebody back in District Ten.

I recline, staring out of the window. The gingerbread houses, though repetitive, offer more of a cover than one would think. By being slightly unique, yet basic in every other way, they give me the concealment of being bland. It's a tricky thing to understand, really.

We sit in complete and utter silence for an hour, maybe two. Shael stops crying once or twice during that time, though her tears are quick to return, unfortunately. I watch in serenity, quietly feeling bad for her, as she sniffles and tries to dry her eyes.

The anthem blares.

My eyes drift upward to the sky, where the first face pops up. It's Carisa from one, dark eyebrows lowered into a threatening expression, yet her smile suggests she's appealing. I shrug – it's good to get the threats out of the way, really. Makes a better chance for people like Shael and me, where we could barely get a knife to stick in a dummy.

The second face that slides into the sky is her district partner, the boy who _never_ smiled. Soren Valen. He stares down at me with a mournful expression, mouth pulled into a gloomy frown. The boy who was kicked out of the Careers is gone. Interesting.

The next face is, once again, unexpected. The pale, stocky male from Two, Wraith. His kind eyes and innocent smirk speak volumes. How was he killed? Who was his killer? I shrug, wrapping my arms around my torso, hugging myself to give me warmth.

And another unforeseen death – the blond boy from Four. Merritt. That's what, half the Careers down in a day? As he scowls down on the arena, his face magnified so I can see each flawless detail, I turn to Shael. "Are you getting this?"

She lifts her head, dabbing at the corner of her eye with her sleeve. Her expression is bland, hardened. "Well, apparently the Careers this year absolutely sucked, or there's some psycho killer on the loose. I don't doubt either of them."

I snort. "I think it's the first one – though their scores were good, their team dynamics weren't as strong as they could have been."

"You're right," Shael says, staring at the next face to appear – Aria from Six, with her petite, silent smile and pitch black hair, and then Halcyon from Six, bleach blond hair and sparkling eyes apparent. "And plus, the outlier districts aren't the strongest. I mean, sure, there's a couple of tributes that scored high – like Maya or you and me, but to be perfectly honest, there's nobody that would really… crack under the pressure. I mean, I doubt many people would cry about a fallen tribute that they barely knew…"

_She's lying to protect her emotions from me,_ I muse. Not the brightest move, considering I'm her only ally, but I nod and smile just the same. "Definitely. We're all pretty good, mentally."

The next face appears – Cayley – and Shael hisses, blinking her big eyes. "Aw, Tethys, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about her?"

Obviously, she's got a grip on what loss is.

I watch Cayley, sphinxlike smile and glittering eyes, as she slowly fades from the sky, and I heave a sigh. "She was my district partner. I'm just glad that I wasn't more attached to her, you know? Otherwise this would be tougher."

"Yeah."

"But she was from home, and, well…" I trail off. I specifically wanted no reminder of home – I wanted to do this all on my own. I mean, that's why I didn't bring a token – no matter now many little trinkets I have at home, they'd all drag me down. I want to be free to accomplish whatever I can, on my own.

"I get what you're saying." Shael straightens her spine. "That's partly why I was so attached to Cade… no matter how annoying he was, he was somebody from home. And I was attracted to that."

I offer a smile, and rub her forearm. She flinches slightly at the mere touch. "I know the feeling."

We sit in silence and watch the next face streak across the sky, Maysa Barric from Nine. Her troubled eyes watch us accusingly, thin lips stretched into a forced smile.

"Maya Verone's all alone," I muse. "I wonder how she's faring."

"Better than me, obviously." Shael smiles weakly, and I fake a confused expression. "Come on, Tethys. I know you've seen me cry. It's hard to mask."

So she wasn't lying about her feelings about Cade earlier? I perk my ears up and force a smile. She's more complex than I previously thought.

I've been thinking that the ones to beat have been Careers, like Brux and Eidra, but maybe the real competition is my own ally.

Maybe Shael's more victor material than any of them.

But I can't let that happen.

**Haven Faye, District Twelve**

"Wake up, sleepyhead!"

My eyelids fly open to the grinning buffoon hovering above me, chuckling as he moves away. Groaning and delivering a quick slap to his cheek, not enough to harm him but enough to let him know how stupid he's being, I slowly arise from my sleep.

Kinton sits back on his heels and watches me as I rub my eyes, albeit a bit creepily, I try not to mind. "Did I miss much?" I yawn sleepily.

He shrugs. "Everybody else died, it's just us, and yeah, final two. Thought I should wake you, so you get a fair chance to fight."

I blink.

And then I realize that he is joking.

I hit his forehead with my palm and groan again. "Please don't mess with me like that, Kin," I moan.

His devilish grin grows wider. "You said please for once. What's the occasion?"

I roll my eyes and reach for the bag. "Come on, can't I be polite once in a while? I might as well be."

Kinton chuckles and watches me as I reach for an orange, tearing open the soft rind. "I don't know, really. It's been a boring night. Did you have any dreams?"

I shrug. "If I did, I sure can't remember."

"Oh." He stares at his feet. "Sometimes I have dreams, but they're mostly nightmares. Well, ever since we got to the Capitol, anyways."

"Aw, Kin, why's that?"

He smiles, shrugs. "Most likely fear of dying and stuff like that… I mean, to be perfectly honest, I don't believe I'm making it out – but who knows? Most of the Careers are dead, and we're well-off. Maybe I do have a chance. Maybe we can bring District Twelve another victor, aside from just Grey."

"That would be really nice," I muse to myself, but half consumed with the knowledge that if I live, I'll have Kinton's coffin riding on my conscience, and vice versa. We've bonded, and maybe even have some tentative little odd friendship thing.

But I can't let that happen.

"But, I mean, you've obviously not making it out of here," I say, closing my eyes and pushing the guilt away, the guilt of damaging Kinton, both his pride and his relationship with me. "You're way too nice. And who has a baby face like that, honestly?"

Kinton watches me, lips curved downwards into a small frown. Instead of looking gloomy or angry, he just looks… hurt. "You really think I don't have a chance?" he croaks out in his strangely high-pitched voice.

I bite back the remorse and shake my head.

His shoulders slump inside the baby blue suit, and he turns away slightly. If I were stronger, braver, I'd simply grab a blade, and push it between his shoulder blades. But even if I am a monster for hurting him, I can't really injure him – not physically, anyways.

He is a good guy. A friend, if this was a different circumstance.

Except for the fact that I never had too many friends at home. Zero, to be exact. I was kind of a loner.

But Kinton doesn't have to know that. And he _is_ a good person, inside and out.

"I'm only joking, you big dummy," I say quickly to cover up my tracks, forcing a small smile and shoving his shoulder. He makes an unpleasant sound and slumps onto the ground, scrunching up his nose like a big baby.

"Fine, be that way." I stand up, taking the pack with me, and sure enough, he scrambles to his feet. I smile on a whim, briskly erase it off my face. No need to encourage him any further; he's already following me.

"Hey, look, more dolls."

I whip my head around to see Kinton, standing in peacefulness as he watches four or five ragdolls mill about, only twenty feet from us. They're huge in comparison to us, and it doesn't help that the chanting has completely stopped – something that I find scary. It was a sort of background noise, to remind me that no matter what happened, at least _something_ would stay consistent.

But it doesn't appear that anything is steady here anymore.

I fumble around for a blade as the dolls notice us, thanks to Kinton's quick little announcement. There's no point in running. We're against the forest, and the lollipop sticks would offer no reprieve. Plus, the dolls are circling us. And Kinton's petrified, frozen with suspense.

Looks like it's up to me.

Wrapping my fingers around a blade, forcing the backpack into Kinton's trembling arms, I snarl at the nearest doll, about my stature. It reaches up to twirl a red curl of hair, before giggling in this freakily high voice and snarling, lunging towards me. It jaws clamp around my wrist, and I scream.

Lashing out with the knife, cutting through canvas-like fabric, I force the doll off of me as another one leaps forward towards me. I'm quickly overwhelmed with just two dolls, and the rest are still waiting hungrily behind me, breaths heavy and reeking of candy.

I swing the blade into another doll's torso, slicing through a gingham dress, before turning to Kinton. "We need to escape," I pant. "Help me fight, at least!"

Kinton, pale as the moon, reaches a shaky hand into the bag, before one doll rests her head on his shoulder and he _freaks_ out.

The backpack is thrown into the air, half of the contents spilling out thanks to the giant tear in the bag. I groan again, staring at the mobile object, as the tiny pacifier hurtles out into the misty air.

A shrieking noise pierces the arena.

The dolls simultaneously gasp, eyes locked on the small pacifier, and as one person, in perfect unison, they all start marching towards the area where the pacifier is sure to land.

"This is our chance!" I shriek, grabbing a couple of the items that spilled out and darting away, hoping to any heavenly source that Kinton's trailing in my wake.

One quick glance behind me tells me that, like always, he is.

**A/N: Part of Me by Katy Perry.**

_**12th – Carisa Lenette, District One. A knife to the throat.**_

_**11th – Soren Valen, District One. A lance to the abdomen.**_

**Cloe, what can be said about Carisa, or, rather, Cary? I surely loved her, contrary to what others thought. She was real, a bit angry over the things Soren had done, but still, realistic and vibrant in every way. I didn't have a place for her in any further plots, but thank you so much for submitting her!**

**Kitty, like Carisa, Soren always had a special place to me. He was solemn, a little mournful, and dogged over his attempts to win his only true love back. A sort of twisted love story, really. And once again, like with Carisa, any further plots would have been stretched for him, but thanks for submitting him, really!**

**Once again, a little bit more of the arena's plot is revealed through Haven's POV. The pacifier controls the dolls? What? ;O Looks like things are about to get heated up, yesssssssss. I can't wait to write. **

**But first, of course, I gotta get out that Teen Idle update! ;)**

**Anyways, guys, I think I have more of a layout for these arena chapters – four POV's to each, and a nice little rotation to match. How cute.**

**Question Time!**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on each death?**

**Who do you think will die before the top 8?**

**Who do you want to die before the top 8?**


	17. Scab and Plaster

_**.**_

_**I stepped into a mirrored world that mirrored all our crimes.**_

**Juno Verdet, District Four**

"So Soren and Carisa are dead."

Brux steps away from the window, the shadows of the dark house quickly falling over his face. "Right," he says softly. "I guess I expected one of them… just not them as a couple, you know?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "Carisa was a big ol' rage machine when it came to him. She wouldn't hesitate to do anything drastic."

"Let's not talk about them…" Brux pauses, frowns, before shudders slightly. "Out of sight, out of mind, out of the arena."

I frown coldly, feeling like my insides are tightening. "Aren't you the wise one," I say bluntly, turning away.

Brux touches my arm, his fingers cold on my hot skin. The contrast makes me flinch. "Juno… what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I spit out, feeling rather contrary and upset. "I'm fine."

Nothing is fine, though. I'm regretting every second of this – volunteering for these Games, making an alliance with such people, and growing attached a little bit, even. I didn't know Soren so well, but I knew Carisa. And I knew Wraith better than her, and Merritt most of all. And now they're dead, and I'm alive, and I don't see the point in carrying on without _somebody_.

At least I have Brux.

Swiveling back to face him, I heave a small sigh. I want to say something along the lines of an apology, but… it's hard. _Life_ is weird.

"I'm fine."

A repeated phrase. It makes Brux's face visibly fall for a split second before he turns to rage. His face clouds over with sudden anger, like how one second the sky is a pale blue, clear as, well, day, and the next moment, there's clouds crowding the sky, black and ready to attack.

"Fine, then." A scowl.

"Yeah." I glare right back. Two can play at this game.

Silence falls over us like a drape over an unwanted, cruddy painting. Brux moves his hand over his crossbow suggestively, never once sparing me a glance. I stare out the window, watching the glossy ocean waves tremble as they collapse on the sugar shore over and over again.

But I don't look back at Brux. I _won't_ make the first move.

I will stay here. And think to myself.

I will be like a hermit.

Leaning back and knocking my head against the wooden wall, my eyelids flutter shut. What if I had stayed at home? Decided that this year was not _my_ year, and lie in bed all the time. Like usual.

Well, I mean, people from Four volunteer for all different reasons – Merritt, I'm not sure why, but for Brux, he's told me, it was to represent and bring attention to his cult. He had said he didn't care about victory. He just wanted the effects of the Games, in any way that they had come. If it was through death, then his cult would get attention anyways. So be it.

He had said that he would have been lying if he hadn't felt a _little_ suicidal on the morning of the Reaping.

And back when he had told me, I accepted this. His backstory didn't matter to me – it's not where you have been that matters, but where you are now.

Standing up and stretching my arms, I turn to my ally, admittedly feeling a bit sorry for him all of a sudden. I don't even know why.

"I'm gonna go to the roof," I say to Brux.

He looks up at me with his soul in his eyes. I'm not one for sappiness – I hate it, actually – but I can legitimately see the struggle and pain drifting across his face as he says "Okay."

Turning away from him, feeling like I'm doing a lot more than simply moving to the roof, I stride away, up the rickety old stairs.

There's a shifty breeze outside, one that blows around my hair and makes me blink. I fold my hands over my shoulders to hug myself and stare out at the gingerbread town, watching the silhouettes move in the distance. Dolls or tributes? I don't even know anymore. And I don't think I care.

I've lost my ability to care. And I hate it.

Even my ginger hair, once so fiery, voluptuous, and full of life, is limp and swirls around my chin like a curtain.

I rest my chin in my hands and exhale shakily.

They say that the arena breaks people, or shakes their beliefs, morals, and values. It's done none of that to me – it's made me lose myself. And I can't stand it.

**Maya Verone, District Five**

I shakily bow my head, letting the hair fall forward in waves, before I tie it up. It's monotonous, what I've been doing for the past couple hours. But even if it is tiring and redundant, it's something to do. And that's better than anything.

Maysa is dead. Maybe I deserve something bland like this. For her. To remind me that not everything is fun and games, no matter how whimsical I make it seem.

I pull the hairband out of my hair, and retie it.

I'm alone.

Isolated.

I have never dealt well with being alone. I've always had friends giggling and swarming me, whispering and breathing down my neck in close quarters. I never minded it – who would? Friends are forever… at least that's what I thought.

None of them knew about my addiction. And that's just the way I liked it.

District Five was a good life. Maybe not for everybody, but for me. There was always something to do, something to run at and scale, something to nab. It was a good, high life, and I was more than happy there.

Somebody made me volunteer, though.

Well, somebody volunteered _for_ me.

It could have been anyone. Somebody I've stole from that was still bitter over the loss of their possessions, one of my parkour groupies trying to make a sick, twisted joke, or even somebody simply suspecting that I was a thief.

The possibilities are endless.

I never wanted to leave.

But I guess I was prepared for it.

More than most, anyways.

Parkour has taught me well; and I guess my kleptomania has, too.

But that doesn't justify me for being here. Do I want revenge on whomever volunteered me to the stage? A little bit, yes. But I would never wish something like this to fall upon them. This? This is torture, pain, more than I've ever felt. I may have lost a friend, but not quite literally, as through death.

I grew close to Maysa. And she's dead now. I could have stopped her killer, but I didn't. I watched and gawked like an idiot as Merritt speared her.

_Never one to take action, unless it was for her own benefit. _

My friends and I talked about each other often, always good-natured with hints of truth. They admitted that even though I was great to be around, in the end, it came down to myself, and I could be a little selfish.

And that's exactly the situation with Maysa and I.

While she died, I ran.

The only thing I'm good at besides stealing from others, apparently.

I bury my face in my trembling hands, trying to contain myself and remain composed. No. I need to go on. Victory is _so_ close. Wouldn't it be great to win? To prove to my group that, even though I might be selfish and flippant at most times, that I can be strong and worthy… to prove myself, almost.

Or, the tables could turn. I could die – anyone from the composed boy from Seven to the young, fiery girl from Twelve. Everybody has proved their worth as a threat – including me, I suppose.

I've killed. There is blood on my hands.

But I don't feel remorse. I just feel numb.

Maybe I was made to be here, actually.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it's my destiny.

I'm not counting any of the options out, on any rate.

I'm doing this for myself – whatever it is that I do.

**Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three**

His pale face stares down at me.

I stare up to Griff, his mouth wavering in an unsteady smile, his hair quiffed to the side neatly. He's been keeping me company since yesterday when he came back, eyes brightened like always and hands outstretched to give me a hug. Oh, I knew he wasn't real. I'm not an idiot.

But I can't figure out how to get rid of him.

I mean, let's be honest here. In my situation, I've grown attached to this stupid, childish little guy – the only real reminder of home. He died, and I cried for him, for his soul. And now he's back in the blink of an eye – rather, a reincarnation of him. And for the life of me, I haven't the heart to swing my fist into his neck.

Nobody could have done much better, right?

I shouldn't blame myself. I mean, blaming yourself turns you against yourself – and it's not a happy day when you betray your own self, is it? It makes you crazy. I know that; I've been isolated for a large portion of my life.

Nobody wanted to mess with the girl with weird red hair and the knack for tying wires together, the one whose temper flared at the most menial of things. They thought I was weird. They left me alone. I was always picked last for groups. I was never invited anywhere.

I was the strange, secluded girl that you seem to see everywhere. The one sitting in the corner, fiddling with her bracelet, not really making eye contact with anyone.

And here, I've amounted to the same thing.

Nothing matters anymore.

I'm _done_.

"Did you need something, Griff?"

He beams down at me with that same sunny smile, eyes glittering with joy. "Nothing, I'm perfectly fine!" he says happily. "It's all about you, Ell!" His hand dips down and touches my cheek. Instead of being soft, warm flesh, it's ice cold. But I do not flinch.

I stare him in the eye, not even breaking to glance at his sparkling, shimmering skin.

"Ell, are you alright?" He frowns briefly, the smile quickly bouncing back. "You seem sad."

_Why have I not just hauled off and killed him yet?_ I ask myself silently.

The answer pops into my head before I can even try to think. _You're soft, Ell, and you can't get rid of him. That would be like killing him the first time. You are weak, Ell._

I am weak. But I'm not trying to flaunt it.

I just… don't want to lose a companion so soon. Does this make me a worse person for keeping him around, even if I know he'll bring nothing but bad?

Even if I explode on him, it's not the real Griff to experience it, anyways…

"I'm not sad," I reply, forcing a little smile to come to my face. "I'm just thinking."

"Well, then can I think with you, then?"

"Of course," I say, scooting over a little so he has enough room on the ground next to me. He plops down, skin shimmering with every movement he makes, and leers at me creepily. "Griff, could you stop looking at me like that, please?"

"But why?" he giggles. "You're so… fetching."

I try my hardest not to cringe – really, I do. "Thanks… but I'd prefer us to have a safe distance between us."

"Again I ask, why?" Griff edges closer and closer to me, and I flinch, but he loops his arm around my neck. Maybe it's meant as a kind gesture, but it's really just creeping me out. "I want to be _friends_, Ell."

His hands wrap gently around my throat and I shudder, his spidery touch creeping along my skin. "G-Griff…?" My tongue is heavy and sticky, as if it's slathered with glue or molasses.

"Yes, Ell?" he hums, his fingers slowly flexing themselves across my throat.

They're growing tighter and tighter, and my vision starts to blur. Ringing in my ears makes it harder for me to hear his soft voice. "C-Can you not do that, Griff…?"

"I'm only making you feel better," he coos, his eyes flashing.

My hands weakly claw upwards towards his own. I find it more difficult to breathe, and the ringing has grown to an alarming volume. "Griff," I hack out, scraping at his shiny skin with my nails.

Unrelenting, he is.

Somehow, I'm not surprised when my eyelids slip shut and I can't open them.

But I am surprised when he lets go, and I _still_ can't breathe.

And then, darkness. Oblivion. Freedom. I'm free of pain, tolerance, isolation, and… everything else.

_Boom._

**Kinton Machek, District Twelve**

"Do you hear something?"

Haven's ears perk up and she frowns, eyebrows knitting in worry. "Kinton, calm down. There is nothing out there."

Scowling at her casualness, I plod forward, the pack on my back bouncing lightly. The blade I hold digs into my hand, maybe even rubs up against the cut I'm harboring, but I ignore it. I smell a threat.

Haven rushes after me as I jog forward, wheezing to catch her breath. "Kin, why are you running? Come back. We don't need to run, honestly… there's nobody out there."

"Yes, there _is_."

"Don't you think I would be running to protect my own self if I thought there was somebody lurking?" Haven growls out at me, grabbing my wrist to try and stop me. I don't listen to her – I know what there is. Other tributes. They came dressed to kill, and we certainly are not. It would be better if we had an advantage.

Unless, of course, we're being stalked.

"Shush," I calm her, slowing to a spirited walk, handing her a blade for her own defense. I fish another out of the backpack. "If you don't want to run, then at least take this."

She accepts the weapon. She's not stupid.

The very air, thick with a sugary scent and the constant "Daddy, Daddy" keeps my legs working to move forward. Haven traipses behind me, her breath heavy and irregular. But it doesn't matter, we –

"_AAAGH!"_

Out of nowhere, Haven lets loose a shriek and flies to the ground, eyes widened with fear and impulse. A small object whistles through thin air, hurtling just over Haven's declining ponytail and sticking firmly into a lollipop stick behind us.

I whip around, sucking in some saccharine air as another arrowhead glides towards me, this one barely missing my arm. I clench my fingers around my blade, alert and on task as I see our attackers…

Tethys and Shael.

I guess our truce is over.

Shael fumbles for another arrowhead from the small box she holds, sweat beading at her brow and lips quivering. Tethys stands next to her with a spear, glaring at me as though I might try and jump him. Like he's in some sort of kef right now, not the one who could potentially spear me through the gut.

Haven claws at my legs as she scrambles up, the blade cutting through the skin in her hand. Hissing with pain and running a finger along the cut to wipe up the blood, she's distracted.

She doesn't see the next arrowhead that Shael throws, cleanly imbedding itself in her shoulder.

Squealing with pain, Haven's arms windmill around me, even smacking me upside the face once, and she struggles to regain her composure. Gasping, I wrap my hand around her injured one, pulling her to a good stance.

"Kinton, it hurts," she whimpers, clutching at her shoulder.

"It'll be alright," I whisper hopelessly, my eyes flickering out to see Tethys, his face set and the spear clutched tightly in front of him as he surges forward. My arms wrap around Haven's skeletal form and I whirl her out of the way in time, and Tethys's charge goes in vain.

But he doesn't stop there. Swiftly swiveling around on his heel, using the soft ground to his advantage, he lets the spear loose, and it slings through the air…

And into Haven's side.

She collapses quickly, crumpling in my very arms. I gasp, trying hard to keep her upright. But the spear weighs her down, bending low with its tip still imbedded in her stomach.

I let her fall to the ground, her eyes stained with tears and her lips parted gently. She doesn't look peaceful, or serene, or whatever they say death looks like. She looks furious, angry, spiteful. Haven spits out a couple cuss words, not even restraining herself, and wraps her hands around the shaft of the spear for a second, as if she might try to pull it out. But it's too late.

I grab onto her hand, teeth chattering, as I watch the life slip oh-so-quickly out of her eyes. The tears are frozen as she stares at me, the pain evident and her grip fading.

And then…

Her gaze freezes. The earth stops. Not even Tethys or Shael moves behind me.

Haven dies. There's no other way to say it.

A cannon's noise resonates across the arena, and I don't feel anything – sorrow, remorse, anger, vengeance, shock. I just feel… numb.

"You killed her," I say blandly.

Tethys watches me as Haven's body slides through the clouds, the spear hitting some sort of barrier and impaling itself in the ground as my ally fades away for good. "I had to, Kinton… I… I'm really sorry. It must hurt."

I don't say a word. I reach down and grab the spear from the ground, turning it over and over in my hands. The end is stained with blackish blood, wet and shimmering in the sun.

"You didn't have to, you know," I mutter. "Could have waited for the finale or something… she could have m-made it… she was a survivor."

"We all are," Shael pipes up from the background, her voice catching on the last word.

I ignore her, instead swinging the spear towards Tethys. It catches him off-guard. His eyes widen as he sees the weapon come near him – it whistles cleanly through the air, and…

It _hits._

Not the arrowhead, though. I swung it like a club, so even though it smacked against his ribs, it's not fatal. He makes a weird sound, like a low growl, and storms back to Shael, plucking a dagger out of her frozen hands.

"You know what," he breathes, coming back to me. "I killed your ally. You deserve a fair fight. Me versus you, and you can have the weapon that you want."

He's probably competent with both. I narrow my eyes, reaching for the dagger. At least it's not tainted with Haven's blood.

Words don't seem right for this moment. It's not drawn out. It's not long. It doesn't even last ten seconds. More like a lion quickly catching its prey with one giant chomp.

As we back away to gain more distance, a hand darts forward, the weapon careering through air.

And it hits its mark, square in the chest.

**A/N: Scab and Plaster by Marina and the Diamonds.**

_**10th – Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three. Killed by reincarnation.**_

_**9th – Haven Faye, District Twelve. Killed by Tethys Acosta.**_

**Magikmajic, can we not. I adored Ell. So, so, so much. I think everybody could relate to feeling like her sometimes, volatile like a bomb ready to explode, and then with the isolation and fear. In my original plans, she was a just-after bloodbath, but I decided to let her stick around a bit more… just because she was that great.**

**Glory, Haven. Ughhhhhh, once again, Haven was one of my favorites. I loved her way of thinking. Her backstory. Everything about her, honestly. She was angry at the world, but not enough so that it clouded her judgment. She was a survivor, truly, and a loyal patriot to District Twelve, just like you said. Thanks for submitting!**

**Once again, another arena chapter, another two down. Final Eight, and things are really heating up. Teen Idle…? I don't know when I'll update Teen Idle, really? I've slightly lost motivation, but rest assured, I am writing. The lack of reviews makes me cringe though ;_; just a lil reminder, hey, reviews are fun, keeps me motivated, aye!**

**And to those of you who do review (and I'm not blaming people, nah, I just think fanfiction's dead at the moment xD)… I love youuuu.**

**Love all my readers, really, reviewers or not. :') you guys make my day.**

**So, yeah, questions? I kinda left you on a cliffhanger :P**

**Questions:**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on each death?**

**Who do you think will die?**

**Who do you want to die?**


	18. I Need A Doctor

.

_**You picked me up, breathed new life in me. I owe my life to you.**_

**Shael Havern, District Ten**

The dagger shoots directly into Tethys's chest.

Whirling around and gasping for air, dropping his spear, he clutches at the sudden intrusion in his torso – grabbing at the handle, tearing it out, despite the sickening squelch that it makes. Another gasp escapes him, or maybe it's from me, as he stares down at the hole. Blood is rapidly trickling out, staining the front of his baby blue suit.

"Tethys!"

My voice comes in a wheeze. I rush over to his side as his knees give out, slowly letting him melt to the ground. His eyes are wide, his mouth parted but giving off no sound.

My heart trembles.

Raising my head as Tethys shivers beneath me, from devilish to vulnerable, I glare at Kinton, who's watching us with a stricken expression – like he doesn't believe what he just accomplished. "Are you happy now?" I spit out. "Are you happy that Tethys is good as dead?"

"Shael," murmurs my ally from beneath me, but I don't give up the ghost. I rip the spear from the ground, anger surging through me like hot acid, and I stride forwards, not even stopping to think.

I plunge the spear forward, feeling it slip out of my hands, but Kinton quickly ducks out of the way with a gasp. The weapon slides onto the ground, still crusting over with Haven's blood.

"Stop it," I pant, reaching for the spear again, sweat already beading at my brow.

"I never w-wanted this," Kinton cries out, his legs frantic as they scramble around, like each has a mind of its own. "I would have been fine if we'd just gone our separate ways…"

I force a laugh, not sparing a glance to my dying ally. "Separate ways? You can't avoid this, next thing you know we'll be at the finale, and you plan to avoid _that_?"

"I just didn't want to fight," he weeps, tears clotting in the corners of his dark eyes. "P-P-Please, Shael…"

He knows my name. That makes it all the worse.

Blinking back hot, messy tears, I reach for the spear again, but just as my fingers close around it, there's a sharp pain in my thigh, and I tumble over. Kinton's kicked my leg. And it _hurts_.

"What did you do that for?" I shriek out.

Kinton smiles through his tears. "You have to do what you have to do, right?"

"Little bi-"

Another kick lands perfectly on my back, forcing me to bite into the cloud. It's sour, putrid, cottony. Choking and spitting up the material, I roll onto my side, clutching at my hip. Kinton stands above me, eyes wide and watering. The spear is clutched in his hands like a walking stick.

"I don't want to do this," he chokes out.

His hesitation is deadly – for him, at least. I jut my leg out, knocking the spear out of his frozen hands and onto the ground. From there, it's much easier to get back up, since he's scuttling like a bug towards the fallen weapon, a small quivering noise let loose from his lips.

When he turns around, the spear in his hands for the umpteenth time, I make the ultimate decision – it's time to end this.

I kick his leg, force the weapon from his hands. He's on the ground, shivering and quaking. But I don't feel fear. I don't feel numb. All I can process is the adrenaline rushing through my veins, blood pounding in my ears, screaming, screaming, screaming at me to kill this boy.

And I close my eyes, trying to block out Kinton's loud howls, and I plunge the spear downwards.

A crunching, sluicing noise, an extremely loud wail, and a cannon.

And Kinton Machek is dead.

Staring down at his broken body, bruised and stained with blood and tears and sweat as it dissolves into the earth, I'm faintly aware of panting from behind me.

Tethys.

I fly to his side, not restraining the cries that come from me, guttural and fearful of the things to come. I clutch his hand in my own, silently willing him to be better, to fight through the wound. But to be honest, I'm even surprised he lasted the duration of the fight with Kinton.

"Sh-Shael?"

"_Yes_," I nearly shout. Quieting down, my voice trembles as I add, "What is it?"

Tethys's eyes are blurry, but they make an attempt to hone in on me. His lips quirk up into a smile, despite the obvious pain he's in. "We did good, didn't we, Shael?"

I laugh bitterly, nodding and wiping away a tear. "Yes, we did. Oh, Tethys, we did so good together… Well, you did, at least… You helped me through rough times when I needed it, and I couldn't even prevent that childish kid from… from…"

"Killing me?" Tethys's smile never fades. _Always_ smiling. "Shael, my goal out of here was to live, I'll give you that."

"But?"

"But…" he pauses, eyelids fluttering. He coughs, and his cheeks flush red with the effort it takes. "If it weren't me, or Cayley, I'd rather have it be you than anybody else."

"Tethys…"

"Ah, ah, ah, I'm being completely honest. One hundred percent." He gazes up at me. "But Shael? One more thing?"

"Anything," I choke out.

He sighs through his smile, breath ragged and haggard. "My chest really, really hurts… and I do know that there's almost no chance of me making it out of this. And I'm nothing but a realist."

"Tethys-"

"If you don't kill me right now," he cuts in, eyes trained on my own, dead serious, "I hope that my ghost haunts you forever."

I can't stop the tears that come to my eyes. I choke into my hand, tears streaming down my weary fingers, as I stare at the boy who kept me sane, his own eyes pleading. "Shael, I didn't win this game, but you can… to do that, I just need you to–"

"I will," I utter with a shaking voice. "I will… for you."

My trembling hand reaches for the dagger, lying to his left, and, taking one last look into his soft brown eyes, so filled with mischievous light previously, I stab the dagger forwards, into his thin neck.

And just like that, he slips away.

Forever.

**Eidra Nevett, District Two**

We stare at each other.

Braxton, Maya, and me stand in an awkward circle, each of us harmed in our own way. Braxton's got a mean slash on his chest already, nothing serious but it looks like it hurts, definitely. Maya has a black eye and bruises littering her creamy skin. I've already gotten cuts all over, thanks to the dolls and their torturous ways – they practically dragged me here.

I'll admit, I was surprised when, after walking away from Soren and Carisa's fight, I was confronted by the dolls. But I fought back, took a couple of them down – but it became clear that they didn't want to kill me, necessarily.

They wanted me here. At this clearing. To fight.

And even now, they surround us, eyes glittering meanly under their wig fringes, holding hands in a little circle. It's _strange_.

But I'm used to strange.

Sliding a knife out of my hip pocket, I step forward, nodding at Braxton and Maya. They both look pained, weak. "Looks like we were brought here for a reason, huh?"

"I don't see why," Braxton mewls, sounding younger than he really is. Fifteen years old, was it?

"I was doing nothing," Maya snaps defensively. She crosses her arms, a bubblegum pink blade in each hand. She's not even trying to hide them. She wants to intimidate me. Show me she's armed and ready to fight.

Braxton, on the other hand, doesn't look so prepared.

"Shall we go, then?" I say as sweetly as I can, trying to sort of make it easier for them. I mean, I can only imagine what it's like for poor Braxton – thrown into here by force, losing his allies on day one, going at it alone. And so young, too, three years younger than me. He must be terrified. Maya, I can't say the same for – I mean, somehow she got herself onto the stage at the Reaping to volunteer, and now here she is, proving how far her seven in training is going.

"Seems like we might as well," Maya replies smoothly, masking her anger rather well.

She lunges towards Braxton first, the closest and easiest target. He doesn't have time to shriek before her blade slices through the fabric of his jumpsuit, tearing through to his arm. He twirls away clumsily, mouth quivering in a silent scream.

I'm aware when the dolls behind me start moving, marching forward with meaning. They want me to get in the fight, too. Everything on this arena has happened for a reason, and as long as I've followed that, well… I've been safe.

This time won't be any different, hopefully.

Jogging forward as Braxton claws a blade from Maya, hope dawning on his pale, youthful features, I cut through the air with my own knife, not really aiming, just showing him what I've got. I want him to be intimidated by me, and Maya too, but at the same time, there's a heavy feeling in my chest. He doesn't deserve to be here. That position should be left up to the buffoons who volunteered for this – like me and Maya.

Maya's attention is rapidly turned to me, and her conspicuous scowl is directed towards me. A blade leaves her fingertips, zooming right for my shoulder, but I scramble out of the way just in time, gasping for air like my life depends on it.

It's clumsy, messy. I might be trained, and Maya might have been so skilled to receive a seven, and Braxton might be the only one who's really confused about this entire thing, but nothing is coming out of it. I can't do anything but flail around my knife, hoping for the best, wishing that I had stayed with Juno and Brux when the alliance split, or even better, went at it alone.

My mind is clouded. I don't realize when a knife slices open my arm.

Hissing and windmilling my arms as I stagger away, I size up the injury – it's not the worst, but it's enough to disable my right arm. Doesn't matter too much, aside from being a minor setback.

I'm a leftie.

My glare is set upon Maya, who's knocked the blade out of Braxton's hands. She's not focused. Her eyes are wild, frenzied, her movements are sporadic, and she's completely focused on the younger boy as her sole target.

It's easy, almost too easy, to slide the knife into her shoulderblades.

Her back arches, and she twirls to me, eyes widened and lips stretching into a giant O. Her lips quiver, like she wants to say something, but… nothing.

Her legs give out, and before I know it, she's sinking into the ground, a cannon shaking the ground as she does so.

And now it's just me and Braxton.

I turn my head, half-expecting the dolls to back off and let one of us free, but nothing. No avail. Their grimaces are set, beady eyes glittering artificially and mouths drawn into a line.

I have to fight _Braxton_.

"Hey, look…" I stop, sighing as I watch the top of his head quiver, dark hair reflecting the faint sunlight. Words just don't feel right, but if anything, I want to leave this little guy with some closure. "I… I just want to say…"

"You're sorry that you have to kill me, but the games are the games." Braxton turns his face towards me. In his eyes are not tears but a light of anger, defiance. "I've seen the Hunger Games before. It's so cliché. It comes down to a person like you, the Career, and a person like me, the underdog, and you always win. It's just gonna happen right now, too."

Shocked, I stare back at him. "B-Braxton, no…"

But he won't stop his rant. "I never wanted to be here. I never deserved to be here." He laughs sourly, shaking his head miserably. "I wasn't the happiest back in Nine, but at least it gave me a real home."

"Braxton, please-"

"Kill me already, Eidra. Just let me free," he spits out, fists shaking. I stand still for a moment, and he raises his voice to an animalistic scream. "_Kill me, I said!"_

"I don't…" I can't stop staring at him, the knife handle limp in my numb hand. "Braxton, I can't… I don't…"

"Get it over with!" he screeches, body convulsing as he breaks down in bitter, angry tears. I can tell why – he's angry with himself, his allies, the Capitol, the world, and me, most of all. "I just want to be _dead_ right now! Being dead would surely be better than anything being a victor would give me!"

I can barely stammer out a reply when he raises his voice to a deafening volume, at the top of his lungs. "_Get it over with!_ Don't draw this out!"

I stare.

And my hand swings forward.

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

Juno stares out the window, eyes blank. "Another cannon," she murmurs.

"Another death," I say, nodding.

It would be _so_ much easier to just kill her now. Get it over with.

She's been difficult, I'll admit that much. Beforehand, she was simple and fun to get along with, her intentions clear as the sweet air and her personality bubbly and hilarious.

But now? She's gone. That girl is gone. And in her place, is a person who can only gaze out the window, not feeling anything. A robot, if you will. She submitted to something that made her bend, her very will bend.

I never submitted to that, whatever it was – I knew I wouldn't. I'm much too strong for that. My mind has always been hardened and sharp like a dagger with a jagged edge. Juno's, however, was comparable to a marshmallow, speared through with a thin stick.

Already broken. Just needing that one thing to push her over the edge.

And what did shove her over? Was it Merritt's death? The Career alliance splitting up? Or maybe it was me, maybe I was too rude to her or something.

Girls are so tricky to figure out.

"I wonder who that was," I say, trying to initiate another conversation. Fine, I'll be the one to make the first move.

She remains silent, eyes glassy as they stare out at the churning soda seas.

"Final four," I add, voice fading slowly.

Juno says not a word.

I sit back in my chair, somewhat upset, and try not to glare. "Should we go out to the lollipop forest? I'm bored. Let's look for more action, Juno."

And, yes, yes, yes! Success! She slowly reaches for her trident, and she pulls herself to her feet. "What do we have to lose?" Juno croaks out.

Ten minutes later, we're both walking through the forest like people with a purpose. A grin is hovering on my lips, and I can't help myself from bursting out in a peal of laughter from time to time. Finally, some movement, some direction in this grey and black world!

Juno's in front of me, her limp red hair twirling in the slight, sweet winds. Her head is tilted downwards. Her eyelids are half shut. She staggers in her walk, and I immediately rush to her aid. "Juno, what's wrong?"

She yawns and gazes at me with an uneven gaze. "I'm… I'm so tired…"

I loop her arm around my neck and help her to a fallen lollipop trunk. She accepts the seat gratefully, nodding to me as she sits down. Her arm falls to her lap, and the trident slowly topples to the cottony ground. "Brux, I can't do this anymore…"

"W-What do you mean?!" I nudge my head under her armpit to get her arm around me again, so it rests on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her waist, to keep her balanced and supported.

"I can't…" Her eyes are blank, then she turns to me. She sighs. "It's the final four, Brux. I know that much. And I'd like to get home just as much as the other two out there. But… you deserve it more, Brux."

My heart pounds, I grip her clammy hands in my own, chuckling nervously. "What do you mean?"

Juno's body is frail, tired. Her head rests on my shoulder, hair spilling onto my lap. "I have nothing to go home for," she murmurs. "You have your cult to go back to, or at least your family. You have something… and I have nothing."

"That's not true," I gasp slightly, forcing her chin up so she can look me in the eye. "You have me."

She laughs bitterly. "Yeah, and if I win, you'll be dead. I have nothing, like I said."

"But Juno…"

All of a sudden she's stiff, stiffer than she was before. A simple breath puffs from her lips, eyes wide with shock, and she sort of slumps into me, her body cold.

I whip around to see Eidra, pulling the knife out of Juno's back as the cannon erupts. Behind her, lurking in the shadows of the gargantuan lollipops, is the girl from Ten, face beaten and weary.

"I have to do what I have to do." Eidra smiles bitterly, eyes filled with confliction. "I'm sorry, Brux."

Juno's body slips from my grasp and into the ground, and I stare down at the disappearing image with more emotion than I thought I would have. "Don't be sorry," I say, trying not to choke on my words. I unhook my crossbow from my belt and smile back at her, at Ten.

"You know what? Let's fight and get this whole thing over with."

**A/N: I Need A Doctor by Dr. Dre, Eminem, and Skylar Grey.**

_**8th – Kinton Machek, District Twelve. A spear to the chest.**_

_**7th – Tethys Acosta, District Eight. A dagger to the throat.**_

_**6th – Maya Verone, District Five. A knife to the back.**_

_**5th – Braxton Malory, District Nine. A knife to the chest.**_

_**4th – Juno Verdet, District Four. A knife to the back.**_

**Alohomora… words simply can't describe how much I loved Kinton. From his childish innocence to his more thoughtful side, he was truly great to bring to life and I thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for him. I loved every part of him.**

**Bo, Tethys. I can't. From the moment you submitted Tethys to me, even with a smaller form – for you, anyways – I loved him. I wanted him. I knew exactly how he'd play out. I loved him. So much. He was very difficult to kill, and I hope I did him justice.**

**Dino, with Maya you gave me another one of your tremendous tributes – one that has more layers then is first seen, with a darker side to them. Serafina, Francis, Roland, now Maya. I had many plots for her, some even ending in victory, but, well, here you go.**

**Megan, Braxton was a tribute who, for me, at least, was a wild card. I had him placing in many different areas – twentieth, fourteenth, twenty-first, and now, well, look at him. You should be so proud of him. He stayed true to himself, the little bugger. He was so great.**

**Jess, the second you submitted Juno, I knew how she worked, what her personality was. Idle, a little casual and more flippant than the usual Career, but it all just worked. I don't know how I did with her, to be honest. I don't. I can only hope I did her well.**

**Well, we're at the final three. Hope I can harness my screaming thoughts in time to write the finale ;)**

**Questions! (more than usual, but hey, bear with me? :) )**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on each death?**

**Who did you want to be in the final 3?**

**Victor prediction?**

**Who do you want to be victor?**


	19. Ghost Town

.

_**All the boys shout it out loud now, all the girls scream it out louder.**_

"_**We don't want to, we don't have to live like that."**_

* * *

**Eidra Nevett, District Two**

* * *

Brux stares at me, then at Shael behind me. A smarmy smirk slowly crawls onto his thin lips.

"Looks like it _is_ the finale," he says tiredly. He raises his crossbow slightly, nodding towards it. "Not gonna lie, I was half-expecting you, but not District Ten over there. Merritt, maybe. Not her."

Something hot blazes in my chest, and I feel the need to defend Shael from… whoever Brux thinks he is. "Her name is Shael," I say harshly.

Brux merely laughs. "Why bother knowing the name? She'll be dead in a minute, and maybe I will be, too. You even could be, Eidra. It's serious business. This isn't like back at the academies or whatever you have back in Two. This is all we've trained for."

"You've trained?"

He pauses, biting his lip, watching over my shoulder. I glance back to see Shael inching forward, her face a mask of terror and dread, hands clutched around a small dagger. I move to the side so I can face both of them, so I can avoid being stabbed in the back, and nod for Brux to continue.

"It's a long story," he says abruptly, face reddening into a blush.

"I'm sick of this talk," I say, shaking my head. I don't want to know about his past, not when he's going to be dead soon. I _have_ to think positively. "Let's just… get this show on the road."

_So here we go, then._

* * *

**Shael Havern, District Ten**

* * *

Eidra stabs Juno in the back.

The cannon erupts across the arena, a sickening noise that makes me clutch my dagger even harder, like it's some sort of lifeline. I inch ever closer, masked by the shadows that the giant lollipops provide.

Brux and Eidra are talking now. Brux doesn't seem upset that his ally was just slaughtered. In fact, he's laughing, even if it does seem to be a bit hostile.

My hands tremble and I wipe them on the side of my jumpsuit, smearing dried blood onto the pastel pink color. I nearly laugh myself. The irony. Dressed like children, forced to play murderers.

A shaky laugh does come from me, and this time Brux looks up and notices me. His strange pale eyes penetrate through to my gaze, and he nods, putting up a hand briefly before going back to talking with Eidra. Like the situation's not life or death. Like this is just a recess at school or something.

It's much more serious than that, though.

It's a game, but not a sort of game that kids should be playing.

I stride closer and closer to the duo, and Eidra immediately turns around and swivels to the side. A grim smile passes her face, and she says something about being sick of some sort of talk. How we should just start the fight already.

It's started.

* * *

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

* * *

"You've trained?"

My mind freezes, and I stop talking for a second. I can't. I can tell Juno about the cult, but not… not Eidra. I don't know her so well. I don't feel comfortable enough.

Shael sidles up to us, finally, her hands wrapped around a pathetic dagger. Offering a tentative nod and a weak, scared attempt at a smile, she looks over at Eidra, who nods at me to reply.

"It's a long story," I mumble, trying my hardest not to blush.

Eidra tosses her hair, glaring. "I'm sick of this talk. Let's just… get this show on the road."

It's over, then. Everything I've trained for, everything I've volunteered for, my whole world. It's coming to the final judgment point. Will I reign victorious, or will I perish at the hands of one of these two? Eidra would be more likely, competent and skilled, but Shael could hold a couple tricks up her sleeve.

I have counted people out before. But this time, I'm not going to. I'm not going to be a stubborn guy like I've always been before. Maybe it's time I take my mother's advice to stop being so into myself, and take a good look around me.

"I'm ready when you two ladies are," I say finally.

And, in unison, they nod and raise their weapons.

* * *

It began with Brux Redragon, always the cocky one, despite how much he loathed conflict. He knew the odds. He knew he could make it.

As he raised his crossbow to try and get a blow in, having only three metallic arrows left in his pocket, Eidra took a swing at his hip with her knife. It was perfect. Slicing through skin and fabric, Brux leapt back, hissing and flailing his crossbow about.

That singular move delivered a nasty blow to Shael's face.

Blood quickly streaming out of her nose and her eyes smarting with tears, she stumbled back, nearly losing the grip on her dagger. But she wouldn't stop to check what damage she had been given. She'd come too far to abandon any hopes of going home. Clutching at her nose, slick with crimson blood, she blindly cut through the air with her blade.

Meanwhile, Eidra was in perfect condition. Watching Shael and Brux each size up the severity of their wounds gave her enough time to strategize for herself. She leapt back slightly, trying to get another cut into Brux's unmarked skin.

But what she didn't expect was for Brux to whip out an arrow.

As he shot it, almost missing his target, Eidra shrieked in fear, her nerves getting the better of her. She wasn't thinking. She took the arrow to the forearm, cutting through skin and the stupid pink jumpsuit that she had hated so much.

Shael watched the two of them through clotted tears. Wiping away fluids with the sleeve of her own jumpsuit, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood, she silently seethed over how silly these two were – overconfident, cocky little devils. All they had to do was overlook their pain and try and get a fatal blow in there.

But one mistake was all it would take to lead to their threatening deaths.

With Eidra blinded by the pain of her arm, Shael saw this as the perfect opportunity to strike forward and take out the District Two girl. She leapt forward like a lion pouncing on a wounded bird, letting loose a piercing battle cry.

But instead of Eidra, she caught somebody else.

Brux.

Her dagger pierced him through the side, just as he strung his second arrow. Arching his back, knocked out of air, he barely had time to catch Eidra's eye.

Something was exchanged between them.

Not admiration, friendship, or mild toleration. Something more like… respect. Acceptance.

His eyes closed, and he slid beneath the cover of the clouds to the unknown below.

He had wanted to die a regal death. And here it was – and not too shabby, at third place. Maybe he hadn't brought recognition to his cult. But whatever he did, was sure to resonate with them for a long time afterwards.

It was down to Shael and Eidra.

Shael was injured but ready to continue, while Eidra was merely shocked – she had expected it to be her and Brux, never the timid girl from Ten. In the Capitol, she hadn't taken much notice of her, anyways – it had all been about the larger threats. Halcyon from Six. Cole from Eleven. Ellika from Three.

But not Shael. Never Shael.

Meanwhile, for the Ten girl, the tables were completely turned. She had taken so much notice of Eidra in the Capitol. The vivacious girl with so much to live for, an energetic gleam always twinkling in her eye. The apple of everybody else's eye.

Whoever won was sure to make the Capitol – and their district – proud.

They each had so much in common. Both scared. Stricken. Somewhat beaten-down and weary.

But they had so much difference in them, too – while Eidra was sure to try and play it up, make a show – at least, judging from the girl she was in the Capitol – while Shael would do anything, showy or not, just to get back to Ten. There was everything to gain, yet everything to lose.

"I don't want to kill you," Shael said quietly, eyes trained on her dagger, stained with Brux's fresh, sticky blood.

"The feeling is mutual," murmured Eidra, eyes flickering back up to Shael. They were quiet, each girl clutching her weapon, hearts beating in rapid unison.

And then Shael struck.

She had done so much already, more than anybody had expected, so what was one more crazy thing?

The only problem was, Eidra had the advantage.

Shael was caught off-guard when Eidra ducked just under the dagger, and without another thought, her arm jutted out, catching Shael in the hip.

Another injury.

Screeching in the newfound pain, eyelids screwed shut, Shael brought her dagger down on the top of Eidra's head, cutting through the skin and knocking against her thick skull. As Eidra's howls joined in the cacophony of animalistic noises, the two collapsed to the ground, shrieking in the terrible, terrible pain of their injuries.

Eidra's knife was thrown aside in the confusion. Shael still clutched her dagger, now tainted with both Brux and Eidra's blood.

Before she knew what was happening, the two girls were lying on their sides, and Shael's weapon was torn out of her hands.

And it was brought down on her throat by Eidra, the girl who would never give up.

She sank into the ground, Tethys's name playing on her lips.

* * *

**A/N: Ghost Town by Shiny Toy Guns.**

**3rd – Brux Redragon, District Seven. A dagger to the side.**

_**The boy who just wanted some respect.**_

**2nd – Shael Havern, District Ten. A knife to the throat.**

_**The girl who was nothing special.**_

**1st – Eidra Nevett, District Two. **

_**The girl who was always on her toes.**_

**Runasfastasyoucan, Brux was legitimately my favorite. Cocky, hating most people, casual, flippant, ugh, he was the whole package. He was so nice. At first I was a little iffy on him, I will admit that… but from the second I started writing him, it all melted together. The backstory, the personality, the little things you added to make him special. Thanks for submitting!**

**Meghan, Shael was somebody who, at first, was going a lot fewer places. I'll be blunt, I didn't see much room for development in her form. I thought that that was her, and that was it. But there was so much more there, and it all sort of unlocked on her journey. Everything about her soon became my favorite. I knew where she'd go for a while now, anyways. Thanks for submitting!**

**Jake… Hope you enjoy your first victor ;_; I'm crying right now both because Eidra is so nice and I'm so proud of her, and because. . . . I'M THE LAST ONE TO GET A VICTOR? You know what, I think the main reason it took me so long to process that she would be my victor is the main fact that I'm a selfish little idiot and yeah, I wanted you to be victorless with me ;_; but hey, we all get over stupid little things like that, and yes, I'll say it – from the moment I got her form, I wanted her! Her journey has been so much fun to write about and get feedback upon. Thank you so much for submitting!**

**Quick update, yeah? I was so pumped to get this out!**

**Yeah… one more chapter. There's not going to be a SYOT after this, but hey, we'll see about the launch chapter of Teen Idle, yeah? I do like having a game in the Capitol in one story and the arena in another.**

**But, hey. We'll see. Maybe my time is coming to an end here. On any rate, I'd really appreciate a follow from you, since it would keep you updated if I do roll out another SYOT at some point :)!**

**Questions?**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Are you happy with the victor?**

**Favorite scene?**

**Favorite alliance?**

**Overall favorite tribute?**

**Favorite quote?**


	20. Dollhouse

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_**Hey, girl, open the walls, play with your dolls; we'll be the perfect family.**_

**Eidra Nevett, District Two Victor**

The end has come all too soon.

The sky is clear in my eyes, not a single tear marring my vision. Underneath my hands, stained with drying, cracking blood, Shael slowly slips into the ground, her eyes dead and staring out at the vast arena around us. Her lips are parted, her skin slashed open and bleeding out.

I did this.

I did it all.

I _won_.

Even now, it doesn't feel real. None of this does. Even though I relay all the thoughts of this experience over and over in my head, from me stepping foot onto the Reaping stage, to Carisa rejecting Soren from the alliance at the chariot parade, to the bloodbath, to sinking the blade into Juno's bony back, to just now, as the trumpets blare and some cheerful voice booms in discordance.

"_Congratulations to the victor of the Annual Ninetieth Hunger Games, Eidra Nevett of District Two!"_

Lifting my head, looking out at the hovercraft's form appearing over me, a single ladder descends, awaiting me to grab it. With one trembling hand, I cling onto a rung, and pull myself on.

Are the cameras still rolling? In a selfish way, I hope they are – so they can capture every moment of this, from me gazing out at the arena to the way my hair, falling out of its ponytail, flutters in the wind. I wanted this. I worked so hard for this.

I deserve this.

A bubbling giggle creeps onto my lips and I throw my head back, not even trying to prevent the laughter. Maybe it's nerves. Maybe I'm going insane. Maybe I'm still in shock from this.

Whichever it is… I can laugh. If I was trapped before, I'm certainly not restrained now.

I lived through this all. And now I can come back, year after year, to instruct kids on how to do the very same.

I'm free.

**A/N: Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez.**

**I'm terrible at writing epilogues, really, and I've postponed this for so long. Anyways, I'll make this short. Congratulations to Eidra, and to Jake for getting his very first victor from moi ;* **

**Anyways, a little explanation on why I chose Eidra as my victor.**

**From the very first POV I gave Eidra, I'll be honest, I thought, "She has potential, but she's not got much room for development." And I'm being honest now. She had so much potential, but in my eyes, again, not the most room for development. But in a way, maybe that's why I was drawn to the idea of her as victor – because she retained her usual boisterous nature, even in the gravest of times. She wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, and she was certainly eager enough. Since she didn't lose herself in the arena, rather kept what she believed in, Eidra flourished in her already pristine personality. And, well, now she stands as the same person she was when she came into the arena, though perhaps changed a little for the better. She's stronger now. A survivor.**

**Doubt many people – or any, really – will review this chapter, but as always, I feel the need to do questions :)**

_**Who was your preferred victor?**_

_**Favorite chapter, arena or Capitol-wise?**_

_**Overall thoughts on this story?**_

**So long, Contrary! Farewells are bittersweet, and you've been a blast~!**


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